“Scramble weapons,” De Silva commanded. So the mysterious craft had an electromagnetic frequency after all!
The “triplane” flew over snow-covered countryside with the sunlight close behind. The sun seemed in danger of catching the sleigh at any moment. Unwilling to let that happen, Dasher galloped with all his might, encouraged by his passengers, who sang along with the slipper, “Jingle Bells, Jingle Bells, Jingle all the way!”
ARTHUR STUDIED GWEN’S postcard with its jaunty tourist map of Cornwall. He recognized the village of Trelew dead ahead! Arthur exclaimed, “That’s it there! We made it!”
Then something sped toward them. At first just a tiny speck, it suddenly became clearer: A UNFITA drone, laden with deadly missiles!
Grandsanta saw the drone and replied grimly. “Not quite. We haven’t made it yet.”
The old man swerved the sleigh, but this proved futile against such advanced technology.
“Drone closing …,” the UNFITA operative told his boss.
“It’s locked onto us,” Bryony observed. “It’s tracking something electronic!”
Grandsanta puzzled, “We haven’t got any electrickery! Just wood and brass and …”
The tinny sound of “Jingle Bells” rose from the floor. They shouted to Arthur, “Your SLIPPER!”
The operative concluded, “We have a lock!”
In the speeding sleigh, Grandsanta grabbed the singing slipper. “Give it here. I’ll create a diversion!”
“But you’re coming, too!” Bryony exclaimed. “You’ll land the sleigh on the roof with the reindeer and the jingly bells and … tell him Arthur!”
Grandsanta shook his gray head. “You were right, Arthur. It doesn’t matter how Santa’s gift gets there. It doesn’t even matter if it’s Mr. Postman in his spaceship. As long as it gets there.”
“But you and Evie?” Arthur’s eyes filled with tears.
Grandsanta laughed gallantly. “Ha! I’ll be fine! Now, do as I say …”
In the war room, the operative’s voice grew tense as he began the countdown to detonation. “In range in 3 seconds … 2 seconds …”
The “Red Baron” filled the giant screen as the drone closed in on its target. Then suddenly the triplane exploded! Bits of camouflage hurtled toward the screen, a confusing array, including not only the antique plane, but a house, a steam train, a ship, and then … SPLAT!
The drone’s camera was suddenly hit with sticky tangerines, then chocolate coins, candy canes, and a squishy little toy that waddled down the glass.
De Silva’s aide exclaimed, “They’re firing on us, ma’am! Chocolate coins and candy canes …”
Chief De Silva wondered, “Have you been into the eggnog?”
The bizarre barrage came from Bryony’s stocking stuffer gun, which she fired at the drone from the sleigh’s rear. When the gun ran out of its delicious and delightful ammunition, the elf turned to Grandsanta. The old man shouted to Arthur, “GO! Don’t stop until you see the whites of her eyes!”
As Arthur jumped from under the sleigh, he pulled a cord. Something huge and scarlet opened above his head—the red velvet toy sack Grandsanta had once used to carry toys for all the children in the world.
As he drifted down toward England under his unique parachute, Arthur shouted, “Happy Christmas!”
Grandsanta addressed Bryony. “Go on, elf. You, too.”
Bryony hesitated, wondering what would happen to the grouchy old man who had somehow become quite dear to her.
He quickly added, “I’ll be fine.”
But would he? Bryony could not be sure, any more than she could disobey a Claus. The elf’s tiny eyes sparkled with tears as she kissed Grandsanta’s grizzled cheek. Then she jumped!
Just then, Chief De Silva gave the fateful command, “Launch Missiles!”
In seconds, the drone fired. Grandsanta set the telltale slipper on Eve’s dashboard and loosened Dasher’s reins. He said, “This is it, old fella. Maybe the next Santa never sat in my Evie, but Arthur did, and he’s as good a man as any Santa there’s ever been.”
As Dasher floated free, Grandsanta stood proudly atop his sleigh and saluted the loyal deer. Rockets zoomed closer, but the old man showed no fear. He simply said, “Bye, Evie!”
BOOM! The sleigh exploded brilliantly in the dark sky!
“Red thing down,” the UNFITA operative reported.
De Silva concluded, “Thank you, gentlemen.”
Meanwhile, in the sky above Trelew, Arthur and Bryony heard an alarming RRRIPPP in the fabric above them as ancient stitches tore free of the faded velvet. No longer gently floating, the two suddenly found themselves plummeting toward trees that grew larger every second!
At the same time, the S-1 swooped over Trelew. Steve prepared to exit the high-tech ship’s camouflaged hatch in a slick, Armani-style suit, complete with silk tie. He looked more like a businessman than a figure of legend.
With an athlete’s grace, and the wind ruffling his perfectly-coiffed hair, Steve rappelled down toward the address Santa had programmed into the S-1’s sophisticated navigation system.
On his muscular back, Steve carried an unwrapped bicycle significantly more expensive than the one Gwen requested. He felt sure his delivery would be met with great delight.
As his parents watched Steve on the S-1’s screen, both fretted about the fate of their other son.
Santa sighed. “Poor Arthur. He tried so hard … but he’s flunked again.”
Mrs. Claus tried to comfort him. “Of course he hasn’t, dear! We’re here. The little girl will get her present. I think he’s done rather splendidly.”
On Mimosa Avenue, Steve pressed a bell and a child quickly opened the door. Steve immediately launched into his speech, “Good morning, Gwen. Ho, ho, etcetera. Apologies for the minor delay, but I’m sure even a child can understand that in an operation as complex as Christmas there’s always an insignificant margin of error, which is you.”
Barely taking a breath, he went on, “As a gesture, I‘ve upgraded you to the Glamorfast Ultra X-3, which retails at substantially more than your requested gift. Bigger, ergo, better,” Steve concluded as he wheeled the bike toward the child. Then he held out a paper and pen, “You wouldn’t mind just signing a legal waiver?”
Pedro stared at Steve. He had not understood one word of the strange man’s speech. But the boy sure liked the bike!
He spoke in rapid Spanish, “No le entiendo, señor. Soy Pedro.”
Steve stared back at the boy and echoed, “Pedro? A boy?”
“Quién es usted?” Pedro asked the stranger in the odd red suit. His small hands tightened their grip on the shiny bike.
Steve struggled to understand this unthinkable situation. “A Spanish boy? This is an error. No hablo español. Get off the bike!” Steve had gone to the wrong Trelew as well!
Steve grabbed for the Glamorfast Ultra X-3, but Pedro clung to it and then burst into tears! His small, slipper-loving dog ran out the door and latched onto Steve’s foot.
“No, no, no!” Steve exclaimed. “Please don’t cry. NO CRYO!”
The stranger’s loud voice frightened the boy. So Pedro wailed louder. “PAPAAAAAA!!!”
Steve pleaded, “No sob-idad!”
As Steve struggled to comprehend how his simple mission could have gone so wrong, Arthur and Bryony staggered out of the woods near the English Trelew. Arthur had bumped his leg against a tree trunk upon landing and was limping.
Worse than the pain was the realization that dawn approached faster than they could possibly reach the village below. Bryony whined with frustration, “It’s over a mile. We’ve got no sleigh, no reindeer, and you can’t even walk properly!”
Arthur blinked, unwilling to accept defeat after all that they’d been through. He found inspiration.
Arthur ripped the paper off Gwen’s small bike. Horrified to see the gorgeous wrapping destroyed, Bryony demanded, “What are you doing?”
Arthur pulled down the training wheels an
d leaped on the little bicycle. “I can cycle!” And before the elf could say another word, Arthur took off down the hill.
Bryony ran after him, crying, “Come back! What about the wrapping?”
As the little bike rolled swiftly toward Trelew, Arthur consulted Gwen’s postcard. “The church! She lives by the church.”
Though his leg hurt, and his knees kept knocking into the handlebars, Arthur’s heart felt light with renewed hope. As he sped past a pasture full of cows, the youngest Claus called out, “Happy Christmas, cows!”
MEANWHILE AT THE North Pole, Mission Control suffered a literal meltdown. Disintegrating ice walls dripped down over hysterical elves abandoning their Claus-less headquarters.
Peter encouraged the crazed elves to destroy Santa’s ice statue.
Then as suddenly as dawn defeats even the blackest night, a dot appeared on the screen showing Gwen’s house. Ernie Clicker, Grandsanta’s former Communications Chief spotted the dot and cried, “Hold on a minute. Look! It’s Arthur. He’s delivering the present!”
Carlos Connor seized on this good news. “No child left behind!”
Other elves stared at the screen, then cheered! More elves rushed in to watch the amazing spectacle of the gawky young man pedaling through Trelew on a small, pink bicycle with an elf chasing after him.
“You’re getting it dirty!” Bryony scolded as the bike rolled past an alley.
Down the alley, Dasher sniffed at a trash bin, or as they say in England, a wheely bin. The deer peered inside and saw his beloved master slumped on the garbage like one more piece of trash. Confused, concussed, and covered in filth, Grandsanta was nevertheless alive!
“Hello, young reindeer!” he said with groggy good cheer. “Which Christmas is this then?”
Meanwhile, aboard the S-1, good cheer was in short supply. Steve stumbled up the mangled remains of the slick ship’s red carpet and admitted, “OK, so I’m not great with children! Does that make me a bad Santa?”
When his father raised one white eyebrow at this dumb question, Steve turned on him. “You’re hardly perfect. Let me guess, you put in the address, saw a list of Mimosa Avenues and just clicked on the first one? You’re just like Arthur!”
“Am I?” Santa wondered. He was beginning to hope so.
Then the S-1 received a message from North Pole Mission Control. On the screen, Seamus Malone exclaimed, “Sir! The soldiers shot the sleigh!”
Mrs. Claus, Santa, and Steve gasped. What about Arthur and Grandsanta? Had they been shot down with the sleigh? Before the Claus’s thoughts could grow too grim, Deborah added, “But sir, it’s Arthur … He’s still going!”
She and Seamus stepped back to reveal the cheering elves surrounding them shouting, “Arthur! Arthur!”
Steve blinked hard. What was his crazy brother doing now? Santa and Mrs. Claus felt relieved and amazed!
WHIZZ! The pink Twinkle Bike came around a corner with its gangly rider pedaling madly, his bony knees poking up with each stroke. Breathless Bryony ran after him, shouting, “No one gets an unwrapped present on my watch!”
Even as she ran, the determined little elf started wrapping the rolling bike. “Stand up!” she told Arthur. When he obeyed, she wrapped the seat.
“Finger!” she commanded, and Arthur put his finger on the wrapping paper while Bryony expertly secured it with tape.
Arthur exclaimed, “The church!”
Bryony slid to the side of the bike and called, “Right foot!”
When Arthur lifted up his foot, she wrapped the pedal.
“Left foot!” the elf continued as the bike neared its destination.
“Hands up!” Bryony barked like a cop stopping a criminal.
Arthur obediently lifted both hands so the elf could climb up and wrap the handlebars. Then he suddenly realized they were heading straight for a wall! “Ahhhh!”
Arthur grabbed a signpost and swung the bike around. The bike smashed into a snowman! When Bryony looked up, they were still zooming down the street, but now Arthur wore the snowman’s hat and pipe.
The Mission Control elves cheered! “In Santa We Believe!” they shouted. “Arthur! Arthur!”
“Nearly there!” Arthur cried as he popped up the front wheel. But the sunlight was nearly there, too! Bryony scrambled to wrap the front wheel as she could barely wrap and hang on.
The bike rounded the corner, and they started down Mimosa Avenue. Arthur spotted number 23. “That’s it there!”
“Back wheel—ready?” Bryony asked as she tucked up the training wheels.
Arthur wobbled, but he did not fall. “Whooaaaa …”
“Here we go!” Bryony thrust a wrapping paper tube between the spokes, and the bike flipped up and over the mailbox from which Gwen mailed her letter to Santa.
The bike soared into the air, flying over a squirrel in a tree.
Arthur let go of the bike in mid-air and landed in a snowdrift. The perfectly wrapped bike dropped into his lap! He looked for Bryony, but the elf was caught in the tree lights. “Elf down!” she exclaimed, prepared to let Arthur continue without her. “Go on. Quick!” she urged.
But Arthur hesitated. Instead, he leaned over and grabbed her ribbon, explaining, “There’s always time for a bow.”
BUT WAS THERE time for a bow? Arthur looked up just as the red light of dawn crept across Gwen’s house and glinted off her bedroom window!
The first ray of Christmas day fell on Gwen’s face. She opened her eyes.
Arthur stared up in agony. “No! We can’t be too late!”
Then something amazing happened: A huge shadow fell over Gwen’s house, as if night itself were falling back down! Gwen shut her eyes and drifted dreamily back to sleep, completely unaware of the huge spaceship that had caused this curious eclipse.
As sunlight formed a halo around the S-1, Arthur climbed awkwardly through a window with Gwen’s bike. Steve rappelled gracefully from the S-1, while his bulky father tumbled down clumsily.
And yet one more Santa approached Gwen’s home. “Ho, ho, ho! Merry Christmas!” Grandsanta exclaimed as he rode down Mimosa Avenue.
The old man imagined himself riding in his beloved Evie, behind a team of gorgeous reindeer, wearing his beautiful red suit, and tossing candy and toys from his velvet sack. In truth, his “sleigh” was really a trash bin. His “team,” a single, exhausted, oneantlered, ancient reindeer harnessed by “reins” made from Grandsanta’s old clothes. His “suit” consisted only of his underwear. The “treats” he tossed were trash from a garbage bag. Yet in his delightful delusion, Grandsanta beamed a benevolent smile that was pure Santa Claus.
This spirit was not lost on the Mission Control elves. Their tiny eyes misted with tears as they watched the three Clauses converging on Gwen’s house. Some sobbed, while others sang “White Christmas” and waved candles overhead.
Chris Tankenson remarked, “All the Santas are taking the missing present!”
Carlos Connor echoed, “It’s beautiful!”
Norah agreed, “The whole family, spreading peace and goodwill!”
Ernie’s voice choked with sweet emotion. “Gaw bless the Clauses!”
Steve used one of his high-tech devices to open the door. Santa squeezed through the bathroom window, while Grandsanta crashed down the chimney. Soot covered his wrinkled face and turned his underwear black, but his jolly mood remained unchanged.
Arthur crept toward Gwen’s bed, moved by the aura of trust and innocence surrounding the sleeping child. He slipped a tag into her stocking that said, “Under the tree.”
When he reached the hall, Arthur heard a noise. He looked downstairs and saw his father! The young man’s face twitched with intense emotion.
Arthur raced to embrace Santa Claus. He gushed, “Dad?! You came! I knew you would! You wouldn’t just go back to bed and forget Gwen! You’re Santa!”
Knowing the sad truth, Santa felt ashamed. Especially when he saw in his son all that Santa should be.
But before he could
say anything … SMACK! Steve bumped into them from one side and THUMP! Grandsanta from the other!
Steve grabbed the bike from Arthur. Grandsanta snatched it from Steve! To Arthur’s dismay, a whispered tussle ensued; the pointless struggle reminded him of the ugly incident that had ruined Christmas earlier: the board game fiasco.
“I’m Santa! I’m delivering it!” Steve insisted.
“Don’t be silly, I’m Santa, can’t you see from my suit?” Grandsanta gestured toward his sooty underwear.
Santa jumped in, “I am actually Santa, and I think it would be best if I …”
Steve interrupted, “I’m Santa! You handed it over!”
“I didn’t … in fact … technically …” Santa went on.
“You said I could drive,” Steve pointed out.
“I’m Santa, you naughty boys!” Grandsanta scolded. Then he reached in his garbage bag. “Here, have a bonbon.”
But Steve would not exchange the bike for a brown apple core, and neither would Santa. Finally Arthur hissed, “Shhhh!”
He pointed upstairs where a door creaked open. The three Clauses heard Gwen’s high-pitched sixyear-old voice exclaim, “It’s Christmas!”
Arthur begged, “Please. Gwen just has to have a present from Santa!”
Santa looked at him gently, then said, “You do it, Arthur.”
As she ran to her parents’ room, Gwen’s little feet padded overhead. “Mummy, Daddy, wake up!” she squeaked.
Arthur raced into the living room and carefully placed the present under the tree. At last, after so much effort, everything was set!
Then Grandsanta toddled in and merrily emptied his garbage bag under the tree, too! “Ho, ho, ho!” he chuckled, just as Gwen started down the stairs.
Santa and Steve dragged the old man toward a closet, as Arthur frantically scooped up all the trash.
“Father, please keep it down,” Santa whispered urgently.
But the old man’s joy would not be muted. “Merry Christmas, everyone!” he shouted behind the closed door.
Santa started to climb out the window. But Arthur tugged his red suit and whispered, “Dad! Wait. Please, let’s …”
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