“I would have liked to see that whole interview of my niece.”
Tony smiled. “Wait right here.” He went to a back room, and came back out with a disc. “Here. I record a lot of these specials, live news. Sometimes a whole bunch shows up, then I can’t watch the old boob tube. So I record it. You have a disc player, yes?”
Dogman took the disc. “Yeah, I have one. I’ll bring this back ASAP.” Tony waved off the comment.
“No hurry. I know you’ll be back. What little family we have left is important.”
Dogman stuck his out his huge right hand. “Thanks. I owe you.”
Tony grinned. “I don’t really feel a big need to talk about what just happened. I’ll call it even.”
Dogman looked at him, deadpanning. “Something happened?”
Tony began to laugh. Dogman was ‘good people’. He had known him for a couple of years. Tony considered him a friend, and he believed Dogman felt the same. Friends were hard to come by if the Feral areas. They shared a beer, as Tony waited for his grill man to show up with some supplies Tony had sent him to get. It worked out just fine, as there had been one less set of eyes to worry about. The grill man showed up with the first of the regular group for tonight. Tony switched one of the televisions over to a porn channel.
“See you later, Dogman.”
“I’ll be back tomorrow.” With that, the Adonis with the huge dog walked outside. A couple of women who came in tried to chat Tony up about the handsome stranger. Tony shook his head. “You’ll have to talk to him. Dogman doesn’t like people to talk for him.”
Dogman drove his massive RV down to a campsite a couple of miles away. He parked, got out, and unfurled the side awning. Then he rolled out a bunch of plastic fencing to show his dogs the limits of their territory. He walked the Mastiff and his three Dark Mask Curs out, let them do their business, then brought them back inside the fence. Four large food dishes were set down, and each dog sat in front of one of them. He fed each in order, the Alpha female, Pepper, getting hers first.
He was down to these four dogs, having found decent homes for several others as he had rescued them. Their former “owners” were dead dogfighters pushing up daisies, as Dogman thought they were the lowest scum possible. Taking innocent animals and having them hurt each other for entertainment was the height of perversion and evil. Dogman had seen some of the images from the Pit Raid in Great Falls, talked to some people who had been through the area. Those involved and still breathing were lucky Dogman had not been on site.
He grabbed himself a beer and put the recorded disc in his player. He quickly found the segment of the interview with Abigail. He sat down and watched his niece recount recent her history with Sergeant Fuzz. He listened intently when she talked about how the War Dog had been trained by someone. Judging by the description, it was probably someone Dogman had trained prior to the first rock striking the Earth. Dogman had quickly lost track of the previous instructors he had trained, especially when he had evacuated Abigail to Deseret. If he found any had been involved in dogfighting operations he would castrate them himself.
When he Abigail stated she had just found out that Fuzz was a survivor of the Pits, Dogman felt a mixture of rage, then pride that his niece had been able to rescue this fine example of the canine species. Abigail had been his best student. She had a way with dogs that was second only to him. A rare smiled formed on his face. He was so glad she had turned into such a fine young lady. He still felt guilty about leaving her in Deseret, but it was the safest place at the time for a young girl, just shy of her twelfth birthday. He knew that he and her parents had provided her with survival tools that had would serve her well. Dogman knew that if he personally had stayed, someone would have been injured or killer. He did not suffer easily those who tried to judge him, or force their beliefs on him.
Watching Abigail as she and the female person of color finished the interview with comments about a rapidly approaching Happy Thanksgiving, Dogman realized something. Torbin Bender had promised him that he would insure that Abigail was taken care of, and was safe and healthy. The Marine had fulfilled his promise. Dogman owed him now. Someday, he would have to pay back Bender for ensuring his niece’s well-being. With that thought, the large and muscular man decided it was time to fix his meal. He carefully stopped the disc, and removed it from the player. He would have to find a way to buy this from Tony. It was too special to just let it disappear.
Now, he knew he still had some buffalo steaks in the refrigerator. Of course, some of the meat would wind up in his dogs’ stomach. He let a very rare chuckle pass his lips. He knew he was sometimes actually a very soft touch. But that was a secret he kept between him and his dogs.
CHAPTER 18
THANKSGIVING
MALMSTROM UNITED ARMED FORCES BASE
GREAT FALLS, MONTANA
UNOCCUPIED STATES OF AMERICA
Abigail was checking on her pies for the umpteenth time that hour. The plan was to eat at twelve noon at the huge dining table Torbin had found and placed in his and Aleks’ and side of the duplex. It was getting close and Abigail was afraid her pies would not be done, too done, bad crust, bitter filling—the list of her worries was almost endless. Finally, Shannon Bell, the oldest daughter of the Bell Clan from Wyoming and pilot-in-training, stepped in.
“Ma’am… Captain, please. You’re wearing yourself to a frazzle. Everything will be just fine. If something does go wrong, well, it’s not like we are in danger of being shot.”
Abigail shut the oven door, again. “Please, call me Abigail. You’re a guest in my home, not to mention your mother said she was adopting me. I’m not thinking as a Captain right now. I’m thinking as a worried… homemaker. I guess that would be the right term.”
The slender, brown haired Shannon smiled. “Okay, Cap…I mean Abigail. But please. The pies look great. Your bread looks great. The rolls look great. You have a natural flair for baking. You’re an extremely fast learner. Everybody will enjoy stuffing themselves with your baked goods. Trust me, okay?”
Abigail smiled nervously. “Guns, weapons, tactics, fighting—that all comes second nature to me. But this...” She waved her arm across the kitchen. “I like my own cooking, probably because I am used to it. And it is better than chow hall food. But to serve someone else… This is nerve wracking.”
Shannon stepped up and put her hand on arm of the Avenging Angel. “You’re worried that a certain young man of Japanese descent might not like this, aren’t you?”
Abigail stopped and looked at her. “Is it that obvious? Damn. Oops, sorry. Cursing solves nothing.” She was not used to having an audience judging something she did. In the field, you just acted, reacted, and could tell immediately by the results if your actions were correct. Usually, if you were screwing up, the amount of bullets whizzing by or advancing enemy screaming at you increased. Here, the judging of the results seem so vague, almost esoteric. Tastes could often vary a lot, especially between cultures. Now, with six years of absence, formal Thanksgiving was being reintroduced to humanity in the Americas. So what would everyone’s expectations be, especially Ichiro, a Japanese visitor? Abigail felt like she was carrying the weight of great expectations on her shoulders. She did not want to disappoint. She was not used to failing.
Finally, she spoke. “Shannon, I know you’re right, that I should be confident. But my gut still says something can go wrong, and that I will embarrass myself in front of all my new friends and family.”
Shannon gently squeezed her arm. “Your family and friends will support you and love you no matter what happens, or what mistakes you make. If for no other reason than they know what a good, honest, and faithful person you are. So please, don’t worry so. Besides, we have an ace in the hole if something goes really wrong.”
Abigail glanced at another one of her adopted sisters a bit quizzically. “What do you mean?”
Shannon had an impish smile on her face. “Well, we can feed any mistakes to the dogs. Fuzz and his n
ew mate won’t complain that maybe the pie crust is a bit dry. They’ll wag their tails and ask for more. Not to mention the good Major and Commissioner Miller.”
Abigail began to laugh. “I guess you are right. Aleks keeps saying that men are dogs. I guess we can verify that if need be today.”
Shannon then added one last thought. “Abigail, I hope this is not too personal, but, well, Major Yamamoto has eyes only for you. Short of poisoning him, nothing you do today will be wrong. Trust me. He has the ‘look’.”
Abigail brightened, then frowned a bit. “Do you think my pies could poison him?”
Shannon put her face in her hands. “Stop it! You’re giving me a headache. Shut off the oven and open the door a bit. As it cools down, it will still keep the pies we leave here warm. Pick two, I’ll grab the rolls and bread.”
“Pick two? Which two? Which are the best…” Shannon let out a small cry of frustration, then began to laugh. Finally, realizing what she was still doing, Abigail began to laugh also. She hugged Shannon. “This is to pay back your mother and sister, since they are not here. Please pass this hug on to them.”
Shannon smiled. She knew the full story of what had happened at Abigail’s first meeting with the Bell family, just how much combat and violence related stress she had exhibited. Her mother had adopted Abigail on the spot. From what Shannon had heard, many people have adopted Abigail Young as an extended family member. Her inherent goodness had that effect on people. Everyone wanted to make sure she was happy and secure. At the same time, everyone knew that the Avenging Angel would not allow any harm to come to her friends and family. These feelings created strong, unbreakable bonds between all the people involved.
This was the first that Shannon had seen Abigail in anything other than a calm and confident state since she arrived at Malmstrom. In a relatively short time, she and Fuzz had become popular symbols of what was right with humanity. All of the stories about her, from the trip from Deseret, the “Oktoberfest Beat-down” to her handling of Fuzz and his subsequent defense of Aleks Smirnov had turned her into a modern living legend. Every young girl and woman Shannon had met looked at Abigail as a role model to emulate. People were purchasing t-shirts with pictures of her and Fuzz on the front and back. Fuzz had his own “land shark” drawing that started out as some posters, now had gravitated to his own line of t-shirts and other products. One day, Abigail had remarkably received a very large check in the mail, apparently from some people making money off her “brand”. A short note included stated that the authors of the check felt guilty they were making a bunch of money off of the actions and reputation of Abigail and Fuzz, and so they felt morally obligated to share the wealth.
After conferring with Torbin and Aleks, Abigail had started a retirement fund for Fuzz and all other War Dogs in the form of a charity. A small amount was funneled off to help current veterinarian offices in the U.S. provide services. Since then, other checks had arrived. It looked like it would be an ongoing activity. These were the effects that the Avenging Angel and the War Dog had on people. They brought the best out in them, not just hero worship.
“Come on, Abigail. It’s time to take your bake goods to the Thanksgiving table.”
Abigail sighed. “I wish things were more normal, that I could spend more time in these traditional activities, providing food for friends and family.”
Shannon chuckled. “The ‘normal’ traditions were put on permanent hold when the Squids showed up. I think women have had to adapt to changing conditions through the ages, and during wartime have had to trade combat for domestic duties. After we rid ourselves of the Squids, maybe we can start thinking about having children and families again. Like in old television sitcoms.”
Abigail nodded. “That’s true. I just long for the days of holiday diners before the Squids showed up. The last six years of being trained to become a fighter seem like a blur at times. I wish there was a way in which we could get a ‘do over’, start over without the possibility of being eaten hanging over our heads. Someday, I would like to start a family, if I can.” She had a slight faraway look when she said this. For the first time, Shannon saw a different side to Abigail. Usually all business about killing Tschaaa or Krakens, now she was talking about creating life rather than trying to end it.
Shannon patted her arm. “Come on. Let’s enjoy the day, Give thanks.” The two young women loaded up with pies, bread, and rolls, walked out the front door of Abigail’s side of the duplex and in through the front door of Tobin’s and Alek’s side.
Fuzz watched them enter from a vantage point by the large sofa in the living room. Lying next to him was his mate, Princess. The large female Merle Great Dane who lived with vet Emily Anders had been introduced to Fuzz a few days after Oktoberfest while she was in heat.
It started out like a fairytale meeting. Princess and Fuzz sniffed noses, and immediately both their tails began to wag. Then, she had laid on her back, her her belly exposed as if to say “I surrender. I’m yours.” Emily’s mouth had dropped open.
“My God. I have never seen that before. Do you want to stay, and make certain that it will turn out okay?” Emily asked.
“No. I will not want someone watching me when I finally find… the one for me. I will give Fuzz the same privacy.”
She walked out the door, as Emily stated, “As a vet, I need to make sure this goes alright, no injuries. Hope that doesn’t piss you off.”
“No. Do your duties as a doctor. I understand.”
Emily had laughed to herself. Abigail had such a moral and innocent outlook toward things. Not like her, the old jaded vet.
And from all appearances, the two dogs looked made for each other.
Dogs ancestors were primarily monogamous, the alpha male and females of a pack doing the bulk of the mating. Fuzz and Princess had apparently decided they were the alphas, even if the other pack members were humans. Whenever they were near, they gravitated toward one another, acting like married humans.
Emily knew that was anthropomorphizing the canines, but it still seemed like that was the case. In the long run, it did not matter. Princess would have some very nice puppies.
Emily was sitting on the couch, holding hands with Commissioner Paul Miller. He had made good on the date promise to Emily soon after the request. One thing had led to others, so they were now an “item.”
When Aleks had demanded that Emily came over for Thanksgiving, so that she could personally thank her for saving her husband’s testicles from the weasel creature, Emily said she had to bring Paul as her date. Aleks not only agreed, but insisted.
Emily started to get up to help the ladies entering.
“No, Emily, you’re a guest,” said Abigail. “You stay seated, while Shannon and I help Aleks. Besides, there is only so much room in the kitchen.”
“You bent my arm, Abigail,” Emily said with a smile. “I’ll stay here and keep Paul and the other dogs company.”
Paul looked at her with a raised eyebrow. “One of the dogs now, am I?”
Emily gave him a peck on the cheek. “Yes. The most handsome one at that. Just remember how much of a complement that is from someone who thinks dogs are better than most humans.”
Paul grinned, and put his arm around her. She made him incredibly happy. In fact, his employees, had all said he was almost acting like a normal human being. Almost. Sometimes out of the most horrible situations, like the Pit Raid, came something good.
Aleks checked the large turkey in the oven. In the backyard, Torbin watched a second bird in a large roaster. Wrapped in his parka, braving the cold, he sipped a beer. The one thing he was a bit short on was suds. He had been too busy to buy any more. Oh well. The Commissioner had brought a couple of bottles of wine, Aleks had a couple more stashed away. They had vodka and scotch, plus Ichiro’s sake. They also had un-spiked hot cider for the teetotalers, like Abigail. He wasn’t certain whether or not Shannon Bell drank alcohol.
Ichiro was putting the finishing touches on an origami ce
nterpiece for the table. Next to each guest’s place Ichiro had made another origami creation, representing the person sitting there. He had also neatly folded the cloth napkins into perfect little peaks, prompting Torbin to say he would make someone a helluva wife someday. Ichiro had retorted that at least he would be good at something, as opposed to Torbin, who was only really good at passing gas.
The two turkeys were large, but Aleks was eating for four, with her two unborn sons each possessing an unusually fast metabolism. Of course, they also had extra stuffing, mashed potatoes, bread, rolls, and pies. Emily had brought her family’s recipe for cranberry sauce, and a bunch of freshly made potato chips. There were a couple of food stands that specialized in making fresh potato chips, kettle corn, and flavored popcorn. The reconstituted junk food industry was still in its infancy, so unless someone wanted old and possibly stale chips from a pre-strike bag, the fresh chips were the way to go. Torbin for one hoped large amounts of bagged chips never again caught on. The fresh ones were so much better.
Aleks opened the french door, and poked her head out. “How is it coming, my husband?”
“Almost there, love. Just a few more minutes and I can remove this bird from the heat.” She nodded. Both of the turkeys had been live, free range.
Just the previous day, Aleks had taken them from Torbin, chopped off their heads, gutted and plucked them with practiced ease. He had been pleasantly surprised.
“You never told me you knew how to gut and prepare a live bird.”
“You never asked, my love.”
“Where did you learn this skill?”
“Well, Torbin, truth be told, I was raised on a farm. I joined the Russian army because I was bored and wanted adventure. I did not want to be, as you say, barefoot and pregnant. Now look at me.”
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