The Tsunami

by Marshall Miller

  Torbin, Ichiro, and the two Sons of the North backed across the open area to the last stable building.

  “Nice job, gentlemen,” Commissioner Miller stated. “It took long enough, but things are beginning to come together…”

  Rolf let out a bellow and started to run at some figures that were coming full tilt from the area of the business office. At the sight of the huge American Viking, they veered off at right angles toward the back of the compound. A large caliber shot rang out and Rolf went down.

  Brynhildr let out a banshee scream of pain and rage, took off like a shot, bow in hand. Miller, Torbin and Ichiro followed closely behind. On the run, Brynhildr let fly an arrow and a figure went down, impaled through his thighs. Not pausing for a moment, yelling something in Norwegian, she let loose another arrow, which impacted a fleeing figure in the back. As that person sprawled face first into the dirt, the remaining two suddenly slid to a stop, yelling, “We give up! Don’t shoot.”

  Brynhildr kept running at them at full tilt, slamming into them like a linebacker. There was a thrashing mound of hands and feet as the Daughter of the North tried to pound both of them at once with her fists, knees, and feet. Torbin would say later that only his arrival along with Miller and Ichiro prevented Brynhildr from beating or hacking the two men to death. It took a couple of minutes, but they finally untangled the woman warrior from the two miscreants, handcuffed them, and frog marched them back to where the others were. The one with the arrow in his back was in hell now, being deceased.

  Brynhildr walked up and grabbed the one she had shot through the thighs with her bow and arrow, proceeded to drag him unceremoniously back to her fellow warriors by his wounded legs. He had been the one who had fired the shot into Rolf, so she had long term and very painful plans for him. She had the man’s lever action .444 Marlin in the hand she was not using to drag the miscreant. When she reached Rolf, who was being seen to by the other warriors, she dropped her burden and strode over to the warrior. She knelt down in front of Rolf as he began to remove his clothes and mail armor. Brynhildr grabbed Rolf by his ears and began to scream at him, her face inches from his.

  Torbin and the others arrived as she yelled at Rolf in Norwegian, a tear suddenly running down her cheek.

  “Well, I don’t understand the words, but the tone reminds me of Aleks. ‘How dare you get yourself hurt! You did this on purpose just to piss me off! You uncaring brute you!’ Or words to that effect.”

  Ichiro laughed. “And, she loves him like Aleks loves you.”

  At that remark, Torbin did a quick double take. He looked at the two Norwegians from North Dakota and saw that his Japanese friend was right. The look, the yelling, the concern was there. He wondered if Rolf realized it.

  “That is the woman Rolf pulled in the rickshaw when he won the race at the Oktoberfest,” Ichiro stated.

  “I guess the race had a positive effect on their love life.”

  Brynhildr finally stopped her tirade, and let go of Rolf. The large warrior seemed like a scolded puppy, his eyes cast downward. Then in a blur, he grabbed Brynhildr by her braided hair and planted a firm kiss on her mouth. She kissed back, then pushed him away, slapping him. Rolf laughed, clapping his hands. Such were the mating rituals of the wild American Viking.

  Rolf, now down to a bared, hairy chest, sat patiently as Brynhildr produced a long, very thin blade. She probed the area where the .444 caliber rifle round had hit him, digging shards of broken chain mail pieces out of his chest. The combination of Kevlar and chainmail had stopped the bullet, but the force had broken some links in the armor. Pieces of the broken lengths, small, sharp and thin, were shoved back into Rolf’s chest. As Brynhildr expertly dug out the shards, stoic Rolf seemed to wince once. This resulted in Brynhildr poking him with the thin blade, admonishing him for being a baby. Rolf laughed again at her stern visage, said something to her in low tones. The female warrior tried not to laugh, to smile, but finally a giggle passed her lips, her eyes now twinkling.

  “Ah, young love”, mumbled Torbin. He got a warm feeling as a picture of Aleks flashed in his mind’s eye.

  Miller’s radio crackled. He had a quick conversation with someone at the other end, then said, “Do not open those semi-truck trailers until I get there.”

  He turned toward Torbin and Ichiro. “Care to accompany me to examine a couple of locked and sealed truck trailers?”

  “Yes, Sir. We are at your service.”

  One of Rolf’s warriors with shield and sword joined up with them. “May I come too? I still have the desire for a good fight, if there are any beasts left.”

  “Of course. That is why I deputized you.”

  The four of them walked in the direction of the business office where the military team had fast roped in. About fifty yards from the office, in the shadows, were two semi-tractor trailers. Guarding their rear doors were two Federal Agents from the other Assault Team. “So Agent Cash, they are still sealed, yes?”

  “Yes, Sir,” the Agent answered. “And those look like our Customs Seals.” The Commissioner walked up and used a flashlight to take a closer look. Wrapped through a bolt hole next to a small padlock was a metal seal. The Commissioner checked one, then the other.

  “Yep, looks like some of ours. We’ll have to figure where these came from, and see when they crossed into the U.S.A.” Slowly, the Commissioner broke the seal on one of them, and stuck the seal in a pocket.

  “Help us. Please, help us.” The cry of a young girl came from inside. There had not been any motion, noise up till then from inside to indicate anything was alive in the trailer. The Commissioner yanked on the small padlock to see if it was loose. No such luck. In a blink, the large American Viking strode up.

  “I will get in,” he announced. Miller stepped back. The warrior struck the padlock downward with the pommel of his broadsword, breaking it open.

  “What’s your name?” Miller asked.

  “Johann.”

  “Well Johann, get ready to open the door.”

  Miller looked at the four others. “Guns up, in case there is something other than a young girl in there.”

  Torbin took a bead on where the doors would open with his M-1. He had reloaded it with a fresh en bloc clip, so he had eight rounds of 30’06 at hand. He took a deep breath, then began to slowly let it out.

  Miller nodded at Johann, who unbolted the doors, swung them open with ease. As he stepped back, a huge bull mastiff burst through without even a warning growl. Torbin snapped a shot off that sliced along the side of the huge dog’s head. The stunning effect of the impact caused the canine to faceplant in the dirt, its front end now not working right. The Commissioner stepped up and fired a shot from his Glock 10mm between the eyes of the dog before it could recover. It collapsed, and laid still.

  “Cover the doors. There may be more.”

  The Commissioner pulled his flashlight out of its belt holder and shone it into the truck trailer. The light illuminated three human bodies hanging upside down, large wash tubs below them. The tubs had streaks of blood on them, the bodies pale white where the light shone, other than some red streaks down the arms and faces of the dead.

  “Help us!” The voices came from the back of the trailer. Before anyone could react, Johann put down his shield and sword and started to clamber up into the trailer.

  Something that looked like it could be part human came screeching at Johann from the dark recesses of the trailer. Miller was a blur as he raised his pistol and double tapped two 10mm rounds into the figure’s chest, the impact points could be covered by a quarter coin. The creature, propelled forward by its inertia, tumbled out of the back of the trailer, thudded on the dirt. It twitched, then lay still.

  “Nice shot,” Torbin opined.

  “Just lots of practice,” Miller answered.

  Johann was up and in the trailer as if having human shaped beasts shot down around him was an everyday event. “Where are you, little ones?” Two young girls, around ten years of age, came bu
rsting out of the darkness and grabbed Johanns left arm.

  They were both nude, covered with scratches and blood. They began to sob.

  “Come, Uncle Johann will get you home….”

  Another screeching part human figure dropped down from the ceiling of the trailer, and started to claw at Johann. The Son of the North pulled an unnoticed Bowie knife from his sword belt in a blur of motion, burying the nearly twelve inch blade into its brain through the left eye.

  “Have a fast trip to hell, devil spawn,” Johann spat out. He yanked his blade out, let the creature collapse as he wiped his Bowie on his pants, and then sheathed it. Stepping to the doors of the truck trailer, he handed the two girls down to waiting hands. After he scrambled down, the two young girls grabbed onto him again. Torbin noticed that Johann was not just some young pup, he had grey in his beard.

  “You have children, don’t you?” Torbin asked.

  “Ja, though they are now older than these two. They need covering, clothes…” In a flash, Torbin had removed his white sheet camouflage poncho and handed it over, and Ichiro peeled off his dark ninja top. They soon had both girls bundled up, still latched onto Johann.

  “Come, little ones. We must figure out a way for me to carry my sword, my shield…”

  “I will carry them, Johann. It would be an honor.” Ichiro stood straight, then bowed low to the huge man.

  Johann nodded, “Thank you, young sir. Now, little ones, we go to where it is warm, and there are nice people. You must tell me your names as I carry you, okay?” He strode back toward the stables, a young girl in each arm, laying up on his shoulders. Ichiro followed in step, shield and sword in his grasp.

  Torbin looked at the two human like figures. “Commissioner, ever take any anthropology classes?”

  “Yes, Major. Why?”

  Torbin shined a flashlight beam at the two figures. “Homo erectus or their first cousins, though these may be the idiot cousins. They have no weapons, hand axes. Must have been bred and raised to be naked guard creatures, nothing else.” He looked directly at Miller. “What screwed up human could do such things? Slaughter, drain the blood out of young kids? Have mutant chimps rape them?”

  The Commissioner hesitated before he replied. “The assholes we just caught are some of them. I am getting my forensics team to go over this place with a fine tooth comb. It’ll be good experience for them. They have already recovered some laptops and records. We will find out who else is involved, trust me. Though the attack on your wife came from here, I’ll bet on it.”

  He glanced at the other still unopened trailer. “I think I’ll scope that with a endoscope we can shove through a wall. Let’s see what’s in it before we disturb it. I’ve had my fill of surprises for one day.”

  Torbin grunted. “I think I saw Scarman, the one who Abigail dealt with before. Brynhildr stuck an arrow through his legs, drug him back over there. I think I’ll go over and check on him…”

  “Just make sure all you do is ‘check’ on him. I need him in one piece.”

  “I promise. I think karma just hit him with a ton of bricks when he tried to shoot Rolf.”

  “Well, stop her from messing him up also. I need to interrogate all of them.”

  “Your wish is my command, Sir.”

  As Torbin started to walk off, Miller called after him. “Just what where you going to do, here, by yourself? Kind of outnumbered, don’t you think?”

  Torbin stopped shrugged. “I’m a Marine. We don’t look at odds. We just do what we have to.”

  He turned and left, and the Commissioner chuckled. “Crazy ass Marines.”

  As Torbin walked back to the stable where the Emily was at, the now rally point for everyone, he heard an uproar in Norwegian. He picked up the pace.

  Just inside the closest set of doors they had passed through before continuing to the next stable, and the guard/tacking shack, he saw all the Sons of the North talking loudly in Norwegian. They were gesturing at the twelve prisoners which sat in a line in the stable, handcuffed.

  Sgt. Wall, the NCO in charge of the fast rope team that had taken the office, saw Torbin and motioned toward him. Torbin walked over to him.

  “Major, these Vikings are angry as hell over the treatment of youngsters. I think they want blood.” Sure enough, just after he said that, there was a group yell and the Northmen walked toward the prisoners, swords in hand. Torbin started to step in front of them when Brynhildr beat him to it. Yelling, hitting them on their chests, despite the armor, she soon had them stopped. The Daughter of the North lectured them, often slapping her own profound chest.

  The typical male in Torbin mentally remarked about her physique before he stepped toward the warriors. Now, her point made, Brynhildr spun around and went straight to Scarman. She grabbed his hair, yanked an ax from her belt.

  “Brynhildr, wait!” Torbin called out.

  “No worry, Major. I will not kill him…yet.”

  Then she had her face in the scavenger’s face. “By all rights, I should scalp you like people did during the Indian wars in the Dakotas. But I won’t. The good Major and the Commissioner need you well enough to answer questions. The arrow thru your legs hurt, didn’t it?” She pushed the ax head into his wounded legs, resulting in a cry of pain.

  “One of my sisters already marked you, and gave you your new name. I should give you a matching scar on the other side.” She tapped his other cheek with her ax blade. “But I won’t. Maybe later. After the government is through with you. Mark my words, the things you did to those children will be paid back tenfold.”

  Now, she lightly patted his cheek with her open hand. “Remember that while you are in your cell. No matter what happens, ten times will be your punishment from me and mine. See you later.” Brynhildr gave him a feral smile, then stood up and walked back to her brothers in arms. They were soon slapping her back, her arms, and she slapped them back. Viking affection. It reminded Torbin of the fictional Klingons in Star Trek.

  He nodded to Sgt. Wall, who nodded back, and went back to helping a couple of agents watch the dozen prisoners. Five of the “Fighting Pit Crew” as they were now being called, were dead. One by Brynhildr’s arrow, one by the shrapnel grenades he and Ichiro had thrown into the entry guard building, three by gunshots. One of the gunshot deaths had been the result of the fast rope attack, where one of the “Pit Crew” was slow to give up. Three of the surviving prisoners had bullet wounds and Scarman had the arrow shaft through his legs. Two others including Baker, the Lieutenant’s brother, had cuts and bruises from a beating administered by Brynhildr. The rest had minor shrapnel and flash bang injuries from the entries in the various buildings. One agent was dead, killed by a dog-monster. Two had mangled legs, waiting for MEDEVAC. Two others had bullet wounds, while several others had bruises, cuts and scratches. None of the military fast rope team had been injured.

  Torbin made his way to Emily, who had five young girls, the oldest about seventeen, sitting around her on some stools and a bench someone had found. The two agents with leg wounds were laying nearby, beginning to nod off from the morphine Emily had administered. Sitting a few feet away was the female agent, last name Fromm. She was staring off into space, white as a ghost. Emily saw Torbin approach and glance at the female Agent.

  “I gave her some morphine too. She’s having trouble processing what she saw.” Emily shivered as she said that.

  Torbin put a hand on her arm. “Are you okay?”

  She flashed him a brave smile. “Yes. Though I had to use the pistol you gave me on that super weasel over there.” She motioned with her chin, and Torbin for the first time saw the dead creature about ten yards away in the stable dirt and straw.

  “First time I had to shoot an animal since I became a vet. Usually I just put them to sleep.”

  Torbin nodded, then added “Hopefully, it will be the last.”

  Right then, large Johann, with the aid of Brynhildr, came carrying cups of hot steaming something.

  “Someone o
rdered hot chocolate, yes?” his voice boomed. Then the five young girls had something to take their mind off of the hell that had been. The former business office had a stash of goodies apparently, as cookies were produced, plus donuts and rolls. The five youngsters went after the bounty as if they were starved. Which they were.

  Torbin felt his rising anger in him, which he tried to control. He knew what these five young ladies had been through. Two others of their number, as well as the only boy found, were hanging, bled in preparation to butchering in the truck trailer. For the first time in a long time, a red mist began to form in front of his eyes. Before he realized it, Brynhildr was kneeling in front of him.

  “No, Major. That way leads to madness.” She had seen a look that she had seen before, something that could turn into berserker rage, and then some. She laid her hand on Torbin’s arm.

  “You have a wife and soon two young ones, we all know. Concentrate on them.”

  Torbin slowed his breathing. The rage passed. He smiled at Brynhildr. “You remind me of someone I know.”

  “Abigail Young. Yes, she is one of us, an adopted daughter of Grandmother Knudsen. And your good friend.” Brynhildr stood up. “Now, excuse me, but I must keep Rolf and his friends out of mischief.”

  As she walked away, Torbin turned toward Emily. “You know Doctor, some rise to the occasion, like you and Brynhildr. In fact, a lot more recently than I ever imagined. Makes me feel good to be a human.”

  Emily smiled. “I know, Major.”

  “It’s Torbin. We just faced old man death together. I think we are on first name basis now.”

  “Uncle” Johann began to talk to the female children. “Not too fast or too much, little ones. Chew slowly, eat slowly, so as not to hurt your stomach, and get sick. Like this.” He then proceeded to stick a donut in his bearded mouth and make slow, exaggerated chewing motions with his mouth. The girls began to laugh and giggle. Then, one of the two he had rescued, named Jewel, dropped her cup and food, began to bawl. In a flash, Johann had her is his arms. “Here, little one, it is okay. You are safe now.”