The Granite Russian was on his feet in a second, bent his head low, unable to meet Torbin’s eyes.
“So, Senior Training Instructor, what exactly were you trying to do? “
“Crush the life out of the two Krakens, then stomp the paratrooper.”
“Because they brought the Eater that hurt Sally Reid, right.”
“Yes, Sir. I told her I was the soldier, that she should stay away from war, battle. She did not listen.”
Torbin chuckled. “I’ve found women rarely listen to the ones they love. They prefer to call all the shots. Now, you go in that room and hold her hand, tell Sally Reid that she will heal fine, will always be beautiful in your eyes. That, is an order.”
Stalin looked into Torbin’s eyes. “I am sorry, I…”
“Oh please. I have almost done the same. Just don’t do it again. I need intelligence from these scum. Now, follow my orders and see to Sally.”
Stalin snapped to full attention and saluted “Da, Comrade Commander.” Then he marched into the examination room, to cries of welcome from Sally.
Torbin addressed the other troops. “Thanks for not hurting him. I need him.”
“Hell, Sir, we were just trying to keep ‘him’ from hurting ‘us’.” One of the Banshees blurted out. Everyone began to laugh.
“Now. Patch up those prisoners and sit on them. I’ll tell you where to take them for interrogation. Although, maybe I’ll just let that Crazy Russian talk to them.”
The three prisoners tried to become as small and unobtrusive as possible.
It was very dark and very late when Torbin met Madam President in General Reed’s office. She had been in contact with all the elected officials as well as representatives from all the Allied Groups, even ones consisting of hundreds rather than millions of members, So far, the attack on Malmstrom Allied Armed Forces Base seemed to have had the exact opposite effect on the Allies than the Krakens and the Tschaaa has desired. Once it got out that newborn infants and little children were specific targets for destruction, instead of fear, blood red rage had resulted.
Terror does not work on all human populations, especially populations that had been winnowed out through years of deprivation and death. As Nietzsche had said, that which does not kill you makes you stronger.
Torbin had been surprised when no surviving General Officer questioned his Command. He was just a Light Colonel after all. But Aleks had put it best.
“They recognize you are right for the job, and are on scene. Plus, many of their fellows are dead or injured, an example of how command can make you a special target. Let you get killed first, then maybe they will pick up the pieces.”
She had produced a knowing smile. “The fact you have two powerful female Presidents and a female member of the Japanese Royal Family in what you Amercanskis call your fan club probably means a lot also.”
Whatever the reason, Torbin had been able to field the ball and run with it. Great Falls and the Base were secured, though they would be hunting for Eaters for weeks if not months. Breeding like rabbits made them just as difficult to exterminate. He knocked, then entered the General;s Office. He walked up and started to salute Madam President when she had shoved a glass containing a substantial amount of brown liquid at him.
“Quit with the formalities, Son. We are so way past that. Here, this is from John Reed’s personal supply of scotch. I know I can use it.”
“Quite Right, Madam President. Now I know why you are in charge.”
Sandra Paul had laughed. Then she had taken a large and very unlady like drink from her glass. She swallowed then looked at it. “Now that is smooth.”
Torbin joined her in the drink. “Hmmmm. I have to agree, Madam President.”
“Someday, when you feel comfortable, my friends all call be Sal. It’s a nickname I picked up years ago.”
“Short for Sally, Ma’am?”
“No. Short for Salamander. I used to stick and flick my tongue at things I did not like, agree with. So, my older brother told me I was acting like some slimy salamander, so… the rest is history.”
They stood quite for a moment, departed family having been mentioned. The President broke the silence. “I almost lost it today, Torbin. I tell you this so if I do, you get ahold of the Vice President and you two take over.”
“Ma’am, I find that…”
“It happened. Ask Brynhildr Jorgensen, She was the one who gave me a quick kick in the ass, figuratively. But it had the same effect as if she had done it for real.”
She looked directly into Torbin’s eyes. “Do I have, or am I, a Spine of Steel, Colonel? You’re a Medal of Honor recipient, you should know more than most what the word backbone really means.”
Torbin paused for a moment, then emptied his glass and reached for the bottle now on the General’s desk. As he refilled the two glasses he spoke.
“President Sandra Paul. You not only are a Spine of Steel for us all, but you are stainless steel. You never rust. You bend but spring back, like Ichiro’s katana. You are never dull, always sharp. Ready to cut any who try to hurt you and yours.” Torbin paused, picked his glass up and looked at it.
“Damn. Never had scotch make me this verbose and philosophical before. This must be the good stuff.” He looked and noticed the President had tears on her cheeks.
“Ah, hell, Ma’am. Don’t cry. I may join you…”
“Brynhildr told me I was everyone’s mother. That you are all my sons and daughters.” Sandra Paul produced one of her signature handkerchiefs and wiped her cheeks, makeup be damned. “But today I lost some of my sons and daughters, when I should have made sure they were protected. I guess I may be an unfit parent.”
“Ma’am, that was not your job. Taking into account what the enemy may and could do is our primary responsibility, not yours. We’re the experts in violence, not you.”
Once again, silence. The woman called Sal sipped her drink, then spoke once again.
“As one of my Sons, I must ask you to go to the well one more time for me. I will have one more impossible task for you to make possible for me and us humans. Just as soon as I can talk to Colonel Bardun one more time, I will provide you with the details.” She took another drink.
“But you may die. Your Aleks may become a widow, your two sons without a father. If that happens, I think I will die also.”
“No, Ma’am. You, cannot die because of me. I have almost died so many times I have lost count. Yes, I have my wife and children, my now extended adopted family to live for. But.” Torbin paused for a moment, then continued. “If they are to be free of the Squids, free of the fear that they and their children may be killed and eaten at any time, and my death is required to insure that, so be it. I always knew of that possibility when I first signed up all those years ago. And that, my President, is my doing, my fault if you want to call it that. You have nothing to do with it.”
Sandra Paul looked at the young hard, yet soft man sitting before her.
“General Reed is right. You are someone special, with a special purpose.”
Torbin let out a great sigh. “You know, I keep hearing that sentiment. Hell, even a cyborg Robocop told me that. I guess I’ll just have to get used to it. So much for ending my days as a Grunt Marine in some Veteran’s Home.”
Sandra Paul laughed. “A Veteran’s Home? Hell, Colonel, you would have everyone running laps, going on field marches, sitting around so straight and tight you’d swear ‘they’ were the ones with metal backbones.”
Torbin gave her a quizzical look. “Am I that tight?”
“Yes, Colonel. But it makes you ‘you’. Which is the person I need in the next week or so. I need a Ramrod. And you are it.”
Torbin chuckled. “Well, I’ve been called worse. Hmmm. Ramrod. Sounds all John Wayne and Clint Eastwood western hero like. Yeah. Ramrod and the Spine of Steel. Perfect action heroes for one of Rich Rice’s comic books.”
He raised his glass. “A toast, Madam President? To success.”
“Success is
my middle name, Colonel. After Salamander.”
As Torbin and the President were having their very late night conversation, in a secret bunker under the once Command Post of Minot Air Force Base, North Dakota, expatriate Romanian Military Intelligence Officer and Translator Mikhail Ispear was playing back a recording of a Tschaaa conversation he had intercepted earlier. Though intercepted was a misnomer as it appeared this message had been broadcast in the clear and beamed at the Unoccupied States. This was the third time he had viewed and listened to it and he was still having trouble believing what he heard.
It was said by many Romanians that they reason they were so efficient at learning other languages was because theirs was so complicated. With numerous extra additions to their basic alphabet and basic letter combinations, some Romanians stated that even after 12 years of education, they were still not fluent in their own language. It was this seemed natural ability that had enabled Abigail’s Late Mother to have also been a translator and interpreter for the Romanian Government, which was how she had met Abigail’s Father. And Mikhail’s father had worked with Abigail’s Mother, which had added to the impetus for Mikhail to make it to America, and offer his services. Plus, he was a bit of a ‘genius’ at his job, being one of the few humans that seemed to have a complete grasp of the Squid Language. He had even become efficient in reading the meaning of all their limb and body movements, including color changes.
Even with all this expertise, what he was hearing and seeing left him incredulous. He finished the third review and sat back in his padded chair. He had stayed late when word of the attack on Malmstrom had been broadcast, hoping to glean from any chatter by the Enemy some useful intelligence. Two hours prior, as details of the attack was being broadcast to the Free and Not So Free World, this had popped up.
Short and to the point, the female Tschaaa, clearly a breeder, was imploring Madam President to meet with her in the shallows of the Great Lakes, off of Duluth. And it was the “imploring” tone and demeanor that had made him so hesitant to pass this message on. Not until he was sure of what he saw and heard, did he decide. Mikhail bolted up from his chair, began to loudly chatter in his native language, and dashed with his copy of the transmission down the hallway. He was almost tackled by Security as he neared the communications room where Vice President Joseph Biggs had been camped out in, both during the Great Wedding and the beginning of Hell Day in Great Falls, Montana.
“What is all the racket, Gentlemen?” The Elder Statesman’s voice could still resonate when he wanted it to, despite his seventy six years of existence.
“Sir, we have an Intelligence Analyst who swears he has some intercepted information that must be passed on to the President.”
“Well, send him in. Hopefully my being the Vice President is of sufficient importance to receive his information.”
Mikhail burst in, talking at a machine gun speed in Romanian. Joseph Biggs held up his hand and smiled.
“Please, young man. I can barely speak and understand English on some days. Romanian? Probably never.”
“Sorry, Mr. Vice President. It is an honor to speak with you. It is an honor to work in this Free Country. It is…”
The Vice President held up his hand again, grinning. “I appreciate all the honorariums, young sir. But, can you cut through what we on the farm used to call bullshit and tell me what has you so agitated?”
“Sir, I will show you.”
Mikhail put the small portable drive into a nearby secure laptop and brought up the file. Fifteen minutes later, after Mikhail had provided him a running commentary as they listened and watched the Tschaa Breeder, the Vice President fixed him with a steely gaze.
“Sir, would you bet your life on your translation? Because, we may be betting the lives of many on it.”
Mikhail crossed himself, raised and kissed his Eastern Orthodox crucifix hanging about his neck. “I swear on my mother’s grave and on Jesus Christ my Savior. God gave me this gift of languages. My translation is accurate.”
Joseph Biggs leaned forward and took Mikhail’s right hand in his.“My good son, you have made history this day. What happens next may be in the hands of Divine Providence. But I think we will give the Divine a little help.”
“Major,” his voice boomed once again. “Get a most secure line to Madam President. She needs this info now, not tomorrow. She should still be at General Reeds Office. If not there, Find her. Now.”
Torbin was getting up to leave the President when George William’s loud voice resonated from the outer office.
“Madam President, we have a call from the Vice President on the Secure Line. He says it is most urgent.”
She looked at Torbin. “Wait here, please. This may need your assistance.”
She sat back at the General’s desk and picked up the secure line, scrambled for communication security.
“President Paul here…Yes, Joseph…What? Repeat that… Is that loud young man in the back ground Mikhail? Put him on. George, please come here. You need to hear this also.”
Although it kind of defeated the purpose of high security, Madam President put the phone on speaker. George Williams came in, a huge double barreled former Elephant Gun someone had found for him as Presidential protection in his hand. His statue made the rifle look normal size.
After getting Mikhail somewhat calmed down, they listened to what the Romanian had to say. They sat in shocked silence for a few moments. Then, Torbin looked at the President.
“Game Changer. If this is not some trick, which I doubt it is, this is a game changer.”
“Why do you doubt this is not a trick?” George asked.
“Because, unlike the duplicitous lying little monkeys that we are, the Tschaaa seem to be an in your face, this is the way it is, don’t like it, tough, species. We have very few verifiable cases of Squids being duplicitous or lying to each other. They whacked a Lord for trying some nasty shenanigans behind the scenes with Eaters in the Keys, to get back at Lord Neptune. Plus, they would not involve their Breeders in such activities. Male Tschaaa come at you, full throttle. Hiding behind that Asteroid when they approached can be written off as ambush hunting, which they do. But verbal judo, lying? Does not happen. They may keep information from you, but when confronted, admit it. You just have to know how to ask all and the right questions.”
The President snorted. “Then why doesn’t the Director ask the right questions? Never Mind. He hears what he wants to, that’s the answer.”
“He and his supporters have bought the Protocol of Selective Survival hook line and sinker. Hell, he probably helped develop it to save the people on the Florida Keys.”
George Williams frowned. “But I thought the Tschaaa had a patriarchal society, even if they put Breeders and their young on a pedestal? How would the females even consider bypassing their Lords?”
Mikhail cleared his throat over the phone line.
“Pardon me, Your Honors. But if I may explain.”
“Go ahead, my friend,” the President said. “I get the impression you know more about how our Squid enemies talk and think that just about everyone.”
“Well, Madam President, I have listened to thousands of their intercepted conversations, watched video feed of them conversing when I have been able. We even hacked into a conversation or two Director Lloyd had with Lord Neptune.”
Torbin laughed. “Shades of the good old NSA.”
“So tell us,” Sandra Paul asked. “How and why would this breeder violate their cultural norms and rules, and risk the displeasure of her Lord? Who is…”
“Lord Neptune, from what we can ascertain. She has borne him young it seems. At least based on the words she used, the gestures of her social tentacles when she spoke of him.”
“So why, my very smart friend. Why is she doing this?”
“Because she thinks she has to, Madam President. For the survival of her young. This specific attack to kill our babies, newborns…I think somehow she has…internalized it, personalized it.
”
“But they ‘eat’ our children, damnit,” George broke in. “Why should it bother her now?”
“First, it was for revenge, not dark meat. Targeting a child for revenge? Not a concept they accept. And I believe she has been seeking advice from other females. She used their term for “we” and made what we call an inclusive gesture with her two social tentacles. I think, maybe due to contact with human social structure, she and other Breeders see a need for a change.”
“My God,” said Torbin. “Who would believe Women’s Liberation would cross species?”
“Your flippant answer may be the truth, Torbin. After all, you have me as your President, your boss. Fifty to hundred years ago, this was not seriously considered by most people in Western Culture, not to mention the rest of the world.”
There was a pause in the conversation, as each of the participants were temporarily lost in their own thoughts. Then Madam President spoke again.
“How are we to let them know I am going to meet with her and whomever she has been talking to?”
“Excuse me, Sal,” interrupted George. “You are not thinking of going outside our protective borders to meet this female Tschaaa, are you?”
“And why not, George? We may have a chance of fermenting a bit of internal resistance, fragmentation in Squid society.”
“Goddamnit, they may eat you!” George began to shake a bit with rage and anger. The President knew her dearest of friends, her personal advisor would gladly die rather than allow her to go into harm’s way. But, she was the President, not him.
“Mikhail Ispear. Can you send us via a secure computer connection this video and all your notes, observation?”
“But of course, Madam President.”
“Can you do it this night? I know it is late…”
A new firmness in Mikhail’s voice could be heard even over the secure encrypted channel.
“My Homeland is in ruins, My President. I came here because you were resisting, trying to strike back. I will gladly stay awake, on the job for days, weeks, if it saves one person. One…child.”
Typhoon of Steel Page 38