Even so, they still had friends who would give tips. The fact that Evanston had been apparently abandoned gave them the idea they could salvage whatever was left.
Torbin looked at Abigail. “I apologize, as those ass….I mean jerks, probably came from the area near Malmstrom after they heard scuttlebutt that Evanston was now vacant. We have told them to start checking with local authorities before going out, but some refuse. They have gotten used to doing what they want when no one is watching.”
Abigail gave a grim smile. “Four of them will not be doing anything ever again. They saw two young females and thought they could take advantage of Ruth and I. They quickly learned they were wrong. I will obtain a copy of the After Action Report I completed, and give it to you. It may help you identify who they were.”
Torbin saw a steeliness in Abigail’s eyes that he had hoped he would not see in the young lady. Unfortunately, the current world bred a hardness in people usually only seen in active combat zones.
“That would be good. Please believe me, my cohorts and I will do what is possible to prevent that from happening again.”
A smile softened her expression. “I know you’ll do what you can, Torbin. I appreciate your concern. But my fellow survivors and I have been trained to handle creatures such as these. That is our Calling, our Mission.”
Torbin knew Mormons pre-strike sent their young men and women out on Mission after graduating from high school, to spread the Word. Now, they went out on Mission to protect the people of the Word. What a screwed up world.
“Well, at least you got a Glock out of it. I see you have a new 12 gauge pump too. Where did you get that?”
“Prophet and President Smith gave that to me. He said it came from a Federal Law Enforcement Agency office in Salt Lake City. The barrel has been shortened to help in handling when searching buildings. He also gave me a Marlin .44 Magnum lever action that came from his family.” Abigail sounded like a young girl who had just received a new dress for a party.
Torbin felt his blood pressure start to rise again. He clamped down his feelings. As much as he wanted the world to be different, it was not. Little girls were being forced to grow up way too fast, and were given shiny new weapons instead of shiny jewelry. If it were to ever change, the Squids needed to be defeated, and expelled from the planet for good.
“Hopefully we will not have to use your new weapons prior to reaching Malmstrom.”
She shrugged. “As I’ve told you, I am trained to do what the Lord requires of me.”
Time to change the subject. “So, tomorrow night. Since you are the party girl, what’s the plan?”
She blushed and looked down, uncertain. “Prophet Smith said he wishes to honor me prior to my departure. I asked for a Dress Blue Uniform, similar to what he is obtaining for you. He tried to convince me that I should wear a formal… dress.” She looked at Torbin with a bit of fear in her eyes. “I know I have not learned the… ways of women very well. I have not owned a dress in years, much less worn one. I am an Avenging Angel, a warrior. I need no honor, no praise, no… frills. I do what I do for the Glory of God, to help my people.” She looked up and Torbin saw the tears in her eyes. Here, a sweet young thing, more afraid of a social function than she was killing Eaters and attempted rapists. His wife, Aleks, was a soldier, but she had learned…
The thought of his wife saved the moment.
“Abigail, we’re friends, right?”
“Yes.” Abigail answered in a somewhat subdued voice.
“You trust me, right?”
“Yes.”
“My wife is a hard-ass former Russian soldier, an intelligence expert, and was trained as a spy. She, and her two fellow female officers, Afanasiy and Inna, have not only been trained in the crafts of killing, but in the ultimate weapon in the female arsenal—feminine wiles. When we arrive, I am sure that these three ladies can bring you up to snuff on how to be a young lady in the 21st Century, while still looking over your shoulder for a Squid or Eater. Deal?”
Abigail still seemed a bit afraid. She straightened her back and smiled. “Captain Bender, I would be honored to accept help from your wife. I’m sorry I am so nervous. It’s just…” She floundered with the words.
“Abigail, it’s that you are being thrust into a world with which you have little or no experience. You are afraid. That’s normal. Fear helps us enhance our reflexes and our stamina. Control your fear, and use the adrenaline it produces to help you overcome challenges.
“I will help you weather the storm of tomorrow night, and then get you safely into the clutches of three of the most beautiful and intelligent women I know. Okay?”
Abigail gave him a big grin that told him she was on board. “Yes, Torbin. Okay.”
“I have just one small request in return.”
“What is that, Torbin?”
“If we dance, I get to lead, and you can’t let on that I am stepping on your feet.”
Abigail burst out laughing. She laughed so hard at the picture in her mind of them attempting to dance that she almost fell off of the limo seat.
A few hours later, Torbin fell backwards on the bed in his room at the bachelor officers’ quarters in Salt Lake City. The hot shower had felt divine. He had washed out his skivvies by hand, hung them up in the shower, then hung his abused fatigues in the closet. He wiped off the thousand stitch belt Ichiro had given him with a wet washcloth, and placed it on top of the dresser in the room. Torbin surveyed his surroundings. The room reminded him of many temporary quarters in which he had spent time since he left Marine boot camp. As it was for officers, it was a bit better, with a private bathroom. Bed, desk, chair, one chest of drawers, clothes closet, ironing board with a cheap iron. Nothing fancy, but with a basic level of comfort. The fact that the bed was pretty soft and comfortable made it more than passable. He closed his eyes, expecting to drift off to sleep.
A sharp knock at the door woke him immediately. He leapt up, wrapping a towel around him. His Ka-Bar and the .44 Magnum sat on the desk, as the Mormons did not seem bothered by a non-believer being armed. Hell, what would he do with six rounds and a knife, especially to people helping him get home to Aleks? He was on a secured base in the capital of Deseret.
But old habits die hard, so he unsheathed his Ka-Bar and padded to the door. Checking his towel, he opened the door enough to peer out, concealing his knife behind it. Standing in the hallway was Mathew Young, Avenging Angel. He had supported in his hands in front of him what appeared a pile of clothes, and a garment bag of the type used to carry and protect suits and dresses was draped over his right arm.
“Hello, Mathew. Glad to see you in one piece.”
“Sir, I have some clothes for you, compliments of the President and Senior Prophet.”
“Well, don’t stand on ceremony. Come on in.”
Torbin noticed Mathew seemed a bit uncomfortable with the towel covered body in front of him. Then he remembered that devout Mormons wore sanctified underwear after they had reached a certain age and maturity. An almost totally nude body, male or female, probably made them think of sinful nudity and sex.
“Please place the clothes on the bed, Mathew, while I throw on a robe I think I saw in the head.”
Torbin recovered the threadbare robe from the back of the bathroom door and put it on. It had seen better days, but at least covered his body enough to make the young Mormon feel more comfortable. “Now, that’s better. Pull up the chair and take a load off your feet, young man. Abigail said you might stop by.” Mathew seemed conflicted, like he felt it was disrespectful to sit in Torbin’s presence.
“No, really. It’s alright. Have a seat. There’s no need to stand on ceremony around me. Hell, we faced death together in Evanston. If you don’t have a right to sit down, no one does.”
Mathew blushed, then sat down. Torbin gave him a brief look over. He had filled out a bit, and was at least an inch taller. Although only about sixteen years of age, Torbin saw sitting in the chair across from him the
beginnings of a fine young man.
Torbin picked up the garment bag and unzipped it, pulling out the clothes inside, and whistled. He held up a set of Marine Corps Dress Blues that seemed almost as if they came straight from the tailors. The Prophet and President had not been blowing smoke. He did have access to Marine-style uniforms.
“Let me guess. Mr. President obtained my exact measurements from my Commander and had these put together just for tomorrow night. I also see pairs of fresh skivvies, socks, exercise shorts, and a spare set of camo fatigues, on the bed. And dress shoes. Damn, he doesn’t do things half-assed, does he?”
“No Sir. The Prophet and President says that if it worth doing, it is worth doing right. And that means perfect, if possible.” Torbin noticed that Mathew was looking at his Ka-Bar, which he had laid on his thousand stitch belt. He strode over, picked it up, and handed it to the young man.
“Here, have a look. Just be careful because I keep it sharp.”
Mathew handled it almost reverently. “Sir, is this the knife you used to kill the Squid, Spawn of Cthulhu?”
Damn that Prophet Smith. He was already spreading stories about Torbin, possibly to impress on people the importance of treating Torbin well. He remembered what Abigail had said earlier about her just being a soldier, a warrior, and not being special or wanting frills. Tobin did not want to be made a hero. The heroes were his men that had died just two days ago in Key West. They died so that Torbin could live to return to his wife and soon to be born child. They were the ones who should be honored.
He sighed. “Yes, Mathew, I used that Ka-Bar to kill a Tschaaa, along with an improvised spear. The bruises from that fight are showing up all over my body. I’m lucky I have no broken bones, and I’m even luckier to be alive.”
Mathew gently held the knife, then handed it back. “I hope I can be half the warrior that you are, Captain Bender.”
Torbin looked at him. Like Abigail, he had been raised and trained for one primary purpose—to be a warrior. Little, if any, childhood or outside interests, and no real family. Not exactly a balanced upbringing.
Torbin sat on the end of the bed. “Mathew, let me give you one piece of advice. Being a good man is much more important than being a good warrior or a guardian. And you cannot be a good warrior or guardian without first learning what a good man is. Sure, you can become an efficient killer, but people who are only killers have no souls. Without a soul, which is the essence of a good man, you soon become a walking husk of a human being, receiving pleasure from killing, and nothing more.”
Torbin continued, feeling a need to give this young, fatherless man some guidance soldiers needed. “A good man is honest, helpful, protective of the weak, and respectful of his elders who demonstrate their respect of others. He is loyal to his friends, his people, and his community. When he swears an oath, he is never the first to break it. He is not perfect, sometimes he might be less than sober when it comes to alcohol, he is sober in his temperament. He controls his temper and his actions.” Mathew nodded silently.
“The last part is especially important to a warrior. You are trained to take the ultimate action—to kill. You must not use this training and the weapons issued to you for personal vendettas or for personal gain. You are like this Ka-Bar. Tempered steel, to be used when necessary, but not to unnecessarily hurt others or destroy property. We men lack one special characteristic that women have. They are the bearers of life, through childbirth. We can only be the takers of life. Therefore, we have to be respectful of our women, as they can easily be morally superior to us.”
Mathew regarded Torbin, mulling over what was just said.
“That sounds like a lot of responsibility, Captain Torbin,” he finally replied.
“It is Mathew, it is. And, since no one is perfect, sometimes you may fall short. But you must always keep trying to be a good man. When you give up, evil and selfishness can step in, and people can get hurt or die.”
They sat silently for a few moments. Torbin stood up and recovered the last two sodas from the cooler Andrew had given him.
“Here, Mathew, share a soda with me. Abigail already has, so now it’s your turn.”
As they sat and drank the soft drinks, Mathew shared with Torbin what he had been doing since he last saw the Captain. Mathew confirmed that they had indeed killed four Ferals after Torbin and his men had left Evanston.
“They tried to take our equipment and to molest Ruth and Abigail. They acted like two legged demons.” Torbin saw the anger he still held toward the dead men.
“I shot and killed two of them from the church steeple with my rifle. Abigail and Ruth took care of the other two, and wounded the last one, who fled in their vehicle.” Mathew paused. “I am still angry, and I feel satisfaction that I killed two of them. Is that wrong?”
“Anger is an emotion that can be used to help you in a fight, if controlled. But do not become addicted to it, nor to a feeling of righteous satisfaction. If you continue down that path you run the danger of thinking you are superior to others, and that you have the right to judge all others. You can recognize evil, and evil acts. Judge the acts, and deal with those. Let your God pass judgment on the souls of other people. You may have to kill someone, and that act does not make you a morally superior human being.”
Mathew sat quietly for a few moments. He glanced at his watch. “I must go, Captain. But the Prophet wants me to take and wash your clothes…”
“Whoa, hoss. This is not the British Empire Army and you are not my batman. Tell the President and Senior Prophet that I can take care of my own wash. But please, thank him for all these nice new clothes that he provided me. It was extremely nice to see you again.
“Here.” He handed him a crumpled business card his wife Aleks had made for him. “A little worse for wear, but it’s still readable. If you call one of these numbers, you should be able to get through. If not, that radio frequency may reach Security Control. Give me a call sometime. Please.”
He handed the card to Mathew, then extended his hand. Mathew pocketed the card, and shook his hand eagerly. “Thank you for your advice, Captain Bender. I will always remember it.”
“Anytime, Mathew, anytime.”
“Oh, one more thing, Captain.” Mathew pulled a plastic ID badge and clip from his pocket.
“This guest ID grants access to the chow halls and stores. If you would like, I can show you…”
“Thank you, but you have done enough. I need some rest. I was always pretty good with land navigation, so I can probably find a chow hall. Marines never go hungry if there is food to be found.”
Mathew laughed. “Yes, Sir. I will pass on your thanks to the Prophet. Walk with God, Captain Bender.” He snapped off a salute that Torbin returned.
“Vaya con Dios, Mathew. Stay in touch.”
After Mathew left, Torbin folded and tucked the new clothes away, then collapsed on the bed. He figured he would be contacted with the details of the get together planned for Abigail. Maybe he could get some sleep, then see if there was a way to contact Aleks at Malmstrom in the morning. He fell asleep quickly, dreaming of his beautiful wife and lots of babies bouncing around.
Torbin slept a good ten hours straight, waking up before sunrise. His stomach began to growl as he stretched, feeling twinges of pain from the beatings he took at Key West. Shit. First the fight with the Squid, then Heidi Faust tried to cut him up, then Andrew had manhandled him. He managed to chuckle through the pain. He still had a tender spot from where that rock Andrew threw had put a divot in his helmet. Once again, he wondered how he was still alive and in one piece. Maybe Andrew was right. Maybe he had some special role to fulfill.
He shook his head, rose slowly, and walked to the shower. He had considered going for a run to stretch things out, but his body told him he still needed some rest to get back up to snuff. So, he took a warm shower instead.
By the time he had showered, shaved, and then dressed in the new fatigues, his stomach was making noises that sounded m
ore like those from an elephant than a human. He needed food. He slipped his Ka-Bar into its sheath, then stashed it along with the .44 Magnum in his tactical vest. They had given him a room key, so he slipped it in his pocket and locked the room door.
Five minutes later, he was following his nose to the unmistakable smells of an early morning military chow hall. The sun was just casting its first rays over the horizon when he found it. A worker in the traditional white trousers and shirt of a dining hall person was pulling an old trash can out the front door to the curb, apparently for trash pickup. He noticed Torbin’s approach in passing. “Not open yet, you’ll have to wait.”
“When will you open?’ Torbin asked eagerly. The worker looked at him more closely, and suddenly stood up straight, his eyes bugging out a bit. “Please wait here a minute, Sir.” He rushed back into the chow hall. Torbin heard him yelling something at someone in the back, probably in authority. The second voice boomed back. Then, the original worker came back out followed by a big, beefy man with a buzz cut. He had no uniform or rank, but moved with the authority of the person in charge. He stopped short of Torbin, and gave him a concentrated once over. Then he spoke in the gravelly voice and tone of someone who had been a drill instructor in the Corps.
“You that Marine Captain up from Key West, en route to Montana?”
“That would be me. Captain Torbin Bender, U.S. Marine Corps. And you are…?”
The man’s face broke into a grin that looked almost like a snarl. He wiped his hands on an apron that had seen better days, then stuck it out. “Doc Stubbs, Civilian First Class, Former Marine Gunny Sergeant and Drill Instructor, now just the chief cook and bottle washer of this fine establishment.” He looked Torbin straight in the eye as he shook hands, his with a steel grip to which even Torbin reacted. “You killed that fucking Squid with that Ka-Bar, didn’t you?”
“Actually, Gunny, I started with the Ka-Bar and finished with a lighting stake. Had to kind of improvise at the end.”
The Gunny chortled, and released his hand. “Not Gunny anymore, Skipper. Just Doc. Too old and banged up to fight, so I make sure all the grunts are well fed. The Corps travels on its stomach.”
The Tsunami Page 4