“What is your first name,” asked Stalin.
“Candy, short for Candice. And yours?” That steel again. She was not one to be bullied, intimidated.
“Stalin. I have just the one name. I know who I am, others soon learn. So, I took a name that fits my demeanor. It also permits me to do things knowing no one can ever locate any of my surviving family, as my records were lost years ago.”
Sgt. White gave a small smile. “I wouldn’t be surprised if you had something to do with that loss.”
He shrugged. “Could be. But that is ancient history. Provide me with a copy of your reports, I will get them to my General, authorship kept quiet.”
Sgt.White stuck her hand out. “Deal. Shake, please.”
Stalin shook her hand, receiving a firm, strong hand shake.
“You are not Russian, are you?”
“No, Mister Stalin. Heinz Fifty-Seven.” When Stalin seemed not to register what she was saying, White explained. “My ancestors seemed to like to marry outside the tribe, clan, whatever you want to call it. I am primarily caucasian, which is all I know for sure.”
“Well, my good Sergeant. I do believe that Darwinian selection was kind to you and your family. And please, my friends call me Stalin.”
Candy smiled a bit more. “So, we are friends now? You hardly know me.”
“I am an excellent judge of character, Sergeant. It is time for me to let you leave. Get me your finished report. I am easy to find. Now, please go and enjoy the rest of your Christmas.”
“Thank you. Merry Christmas…Stalin.”
“Merry Christmas, Candy White.”
He watched her leave, then stepped back into the small infirmary room of the Confinement Facility. Jefferson had finished buttoning up her shirt. She looked at Stalin. “That Sergeant likes you.”
He grunted. “Could be. Contrary to my reputation, I am quite likable.”
Jefferson gave a hard laugh. Then spoke.“Why’d you do this? Why’d you get this meal, get me fixed up with a medic?”
“Why not? No, that is not a fair answer.”
He locked eyes with the large black woman.
“I hate to see potential go to waste. You are big, strong, with fire in your belly. I just have to get you to direct that fire, that anger against the Squids and their scum allies, not your fellow soldiers. If I can do that... Well, I think you would be an excellent Squid and Kraken killer. If not…”
He let the sentence hang. Jefferson sat in silence for a moment, then spoke. “You are really going to get me out of here, and reassigned to you?”
“If I can, yes. But, you will have to start over with me. And this will be your last chance. Come at me again, I will break you.”
A chill went up Jefferson’s spine. He said it so matter of factly. That he would put her six feet under without breaking a sweat.
She stood up slowly, suffering from the beatings she had received. She tried to stand at attention.
“Senior Training Instructor Stalin. Trainee Jefferson asks for another chance.”
A small smile formed on Stalin’s mouth. “You have it with me. Now I just have to convince the Powers that Be. Come. Time to go back to your cell. Think you can march there?”
“Yes, Senior Training Instructor.”
“Good. Let’s go.”
Stalin marched her back to her cell, past the Corporal, Sergeant and three MPs, one an officer. He placed her in her cell, and shut the door. The Corporal ran up, and glanced in the cell.“Uh…”
“No, Corporal, she will not be chained again. She will behave herself if you behave yourself. Understand?”
“Yes, Senior Training Instructor.”
Stalin looked through the small cell window.
“You will behave yourself, da?”
“Yes, I promise,” Jefferson answered.
With that Stalin turned and walked toward where the Sergeant was trying to have a conversation with two enlisted MP’s and a Lieutenant Shift Commander.
“Good morning, Lieutenant.”
Lieutenant Michael Hobbes turned toward the Russian. “Comrade Stalin, Your reputation precedes you. Have a little disagreement with the good Sergeant here?”
Stalin feigned surprise. “No disagreement, Lieutenant. Just an explanation of the errors in his management of this facility.”
Hobbes laughed. Torbin, a fellow Marine, had already told him about Stalin, explained that he was a drill instructor’s drill instructor, and made some of their Marine DIs look weak. He was also very protective of the people under his control.
Hobbes looked at Sergeant O’Neil, still rubbing his throat. “I’ll pass your complaints up the chain of command. But don’t expect them to do much. I told you a long time ago about what would happen if you kept up with your attitude adjustments for people you don’t like. War does not give you an excuse to abuse and bully people.”
Sgt. O’Neil started to protest, then noticed Stalin looking at him with ice cold eyes.
“Yes Sir,” he croaked out instead.
“Well, like they say, ‘Merry Christmas to all and to all a good night.’ Comrade Stalin.”
“Lieutenant.” The Russian made a small bow toward Hobbes.
As the Lieutenant left with the two MPs, one asked. “Sir, what’ll you think will happen now?”
Hobbes laughed. “I think General Reed will have a short talk with Stalin, then it ends. Unless O’Neil really tries to push it, slaps some more people around. Then he’ll be assigned to some forward observation post along the border. That crazy Russian has a hell of a lot more pull than you or I have. I think he just took a bully problem by the horns and solved it. At least temporarily. Now, gentlemen. Let’s go get some Christmas chow before someone else calls us.”
Chapter 22
When you are going through hell, keep moving.
- Anonymous
Pain is inevitable. Suffering is optional.
-Kathleen Casey, Canadian Parliament
ATLANTA, GEORGIA
CATTLE COUNTRY
Malcolm Carter was sitting, looking at a scrawny and battered artificial Christmas tree. He was wondering what gastronomic miracle Red would find for them today. Somehow, she always found something for Big Joe, Dawoud and himself to eat that wasn’t just gruel. She also helped out Bashir Gupta and Reggie Adams in an attempt to keep them well fed as they helped produce weapons from almost nothing.
Since Thanksgiving, there had been no further attacks. Some snow and cold had hit Atlanta. Now, the Krakens seemed to be satisfied to just wait them out. Malcolm would not be surprised if it was because someone thought all this inactivity as well as problems finding food would cause the humans in Atlanta to start fighting among themselves.
Up until last week, Dawoud had managed to get small supply balloons, gliders and a couple of small drones to drop food and medical supplies as well as the occasional weapon into Atlanta, courtesy of the U.S.A.
Then, a Falcon was seen heading to the border with South Carolina. Dawoud had received a morse code message soon thereafter. The Falcon had turned the area up to ten miles from the border into scorched earth. Since then, nothing. Malcolm had done what he could to create sources of food, including attempts at greenhouses, and small breeding pens for animals. Someone had come up with rabbits, pigeons, and guinea pigs to breed for food. Rat catching had become an art. Stray cats and dogs had long since disappeared.
Now, people were crawling through the vacant buildings, as well as any abandoned vehicles, looking for something the previous owners had left behind that been missed before. Big Joe had stumbled upon a cache of wine and liquor that enabled Malcolm to have the scotch on the rocks he was having right now. This was one of the few times when Malcolm had used his position to selfishly covet something for his own use. He figured if it helped keep him sane and functional, other people should not complain.
He had also managed to scavenge some items to be used as presents, especially for Red. Every little bit helped to keep hope
alive. He, Joe and Dawoud were sitting around the dining table they had found and moved into their basement office. Dawoud, being a lapsed Muslim, still found the idea of Christmas rather amusing.
“You celebrate the birth of your Prophet on a day that you are fairly certain he was not born, but rather on a day that coincides with the pagan Winter Solstice? With fir trees from a part of the world where Jesus never visited? And you think Islam is bizarre.”
“Hey, it’s the spirit of the thing that is important,” Joe interjected.
“Well, at least Islam teaches everyday charity to other people, especially the poor. Islam needs no special day to give gifts to relatives or to help others in need.”
Malcolm glared at Dawoud. “No, you just went around sending relatives and friends in as suicide bombers during other people’s celebrations.”
The lapsed Muslim shrugged. “I will admit we let our extreme ideals get out of hand. Now I think Allah is punishing us for our transgressions by turning his back on us, and letting the demons eat us.”
Red brought an Indian rice dish with bits of meat and peppers in it to the table.
“Let us give thanks for what we have, rather than argue about the past, what should be. We can enjoy the spirit of Christian Christmas without believing in all of its teachings.”
Not for the first time did Malcolm notice what a gem he had in Red. Her intelligence and organizational skills had been a godsend. She also had an ability to diffuse conflicts, no matter how sensitive the subject. Dawoud smiled at her. “Ever the peacemaker. You are a woman of many talents as well as being beautiful.” Red smiled back with smoldering eyes. He and Red had developed a “thing” since the former terrorist had arrived in Atlanta. Malcolm knew they strived to keep it discreet, but passions often won out. Dawoud, despite still claiming to be a faithful husband with two wives at home, could not ignore Red’s exotic charms.
The men each served themselves a portion of the dish, while Red brought another plate of a mixture of vegetables and noodles, as well as some fresh bread. She then sat down and prepared herself a plate, sat down.
“I’d like to say grace, Boss,” stated Joe. Malcolm glanced at him. “Sure, go ahead. I hadn’t thought of it.”
Joe reached out his large hands. “We need to join hands.” Soon, all were holding hands with heads bowed.
“Lord, whatever name you want to go by, please bless this meal that Red has prepared. We give thanks for your bounty and your blessings. Thank you also for the friends, now our family, that you have allowed us to find, have, and enjoy. Thank you for the life and times we are sharing with these special people. And all God’s people say, Amen.”
Malcolm looked a bit surprised. “That is one of the longest speeches you have made in a long time, Joe. I didn’t know you had a flair for prayer.”
Joe suddenly seemed a bit self-conscious. “I usually don’t have a need to say much, Boss. Today I did.”
“Well, my very large friend,” Dawoud said. “I think if Allah is still listening to our prayers, he must have heard this one. It was quite good.”
Red reached over and grabbed Joe’s large hand again. She lifted it and kissed it.
“You are a man full of surprises. I honor our friendship.”
“Thank you, Red. Hey Boss, gift giving after eating?”
“Sounds good to me, Joe.”
“Wait,” Dawoud protested. “I have no gifts to give. Not being Christian, I did not even think of it.”
Malcolm waved the comment away. “Like Joe said, it’s the spirit that counts. The spirit of giving to your friends and family. Gifts do not have to be physical in nature. An action to help someone can be a gift.”
“That is true,” Red chimed in. “Your presence here has been a gift.”
Dawoud smiled. “Since you say it, Red, I will accept it.”
Red smiled back, a twinkle in her eye. “And with that, shall we begin our meal? I am hungry even if you are not.”
At that comment Big Joe laughed. “Not hungry? I was born hungry. That’s why I’m so big.”
“And glad I am for that fact, my large friend,” Malcolm said. “Now, this looks delicious as usual, Red.”
“I also have a potato dish still warming. I know how much you Americans love potatoes.”
“Well, as they’re native to South America, that makes sense. Can I interest anyone else in a drink?”
Chapter 23
NEW PRESIDENTIAL QUARTERS
BISMARCK, NORTH DAKOTA
Madam President was entertaining George Williams and his family, as well as Ranger Andrew Jackson and his family. For the first time in a while, the President’s daughter Sarah was also present, with her six year old daughter, Beverly.
George’s fraternal twins, a boy and a girl, were sixteen. Their names were George the Fifth and Ellen, respectively. Both were tall and slender, taking after their mother Meagan rather than George’s massive fullback build. They had also inherited their mother’s movie star looks. In an earlier age, they would have been childhood models.
Ranger Jackson’s children were full grown, the eldest, David, being twenty-eight. David was as tall and lanky as his father, with many of the same facial features. His stay in prison prior to the Tschaaa invasion had made him reserved, a bit uncomfortable around people he did not know. Now, thanks to his father’s move to North Dakota, he was being given a second chance. However, it seemed he still had no real idea what to do with it.
His brother Samuel was bit shorter and stockier, taking after his mother’s side of the family. Felicity Jackson had come from a long line of Texas Cattle Ranchers, and was a strong woman, able to hold her own. She was close to five foot ten in height, as was her daughter, Barbara. Andy often kidded that if he needed back up in a fight, all he had to do was call his wife and daughter and sic them on the opposition. That usually resulted in a reproof from Felicity about being too crass. But had she not been tough, she would not have survived the last six plus years. Samuel was twenty-six, and Barbara was two years younger at twenty-four. Samuel had been in line for a pro baseball slot out of college, but the Tschaaa had put a kibosh on that. Barbara had been preparing for pre-law. Now, both had joined up with the U.S. Armed Services. Both had been schooled in firearms and self-defense by their father, a fact had helped them accelerate through their training.
Samuel was a First Lieutenant in Mechanized Infantry, with Barbara being trained for the Judge Advocates Corp, one of the few lawyers in the military. They had been a luxury up until now, but the increasing numbers of Soldiers, Airmen, and Marines had forced General Reed to revitalize the military legal system. Nothing could help destroy the morale and fighting effectiveness of an American-based military than service members thinking they were slaves with no rights. If that was the case, why fight an enemy that promised more freedom, at least for the lighter skinned?
George’s twins would soon have to make a choice, as Universal Service was expected for citizens ages eighteen to age fifty. You could sign up at sixteen under some circumstances. George Five, as his parents called him, was quite good with all things computerized and electronic. His father thought his skills might be of use in cyber warfare when the time came. Ellen had a knack with animals. After meeting Emily Anders, George had put her in contact with his daughter. Hopefully the good doctor could get her a slot in the veterinarian college she and others had set up. There was a shortage of all types of medical personnel for both animals and humans. The increasing importance of war dogs meant that there was almost as much need for medical support for K-9s as human soldiers. Fuzz had easily demonstrated how dogs could take care of infiltrators and sense alien life forms. The need for K-9 talents would only increase.
Right now, David was odd man out, still trying to find a way to support the war effort beyond repairing roads and digging drainage ditches. George knew of the man’s predicament. Andy could not afford to carry him, nor use his position with the President to get him special position when here were thousa
nds of other young people in the same situation. George also knew that Ranger Jackson did not need to be distracted from his job as the President’s driver and personal bodyguard by worry about his son.
While Madam President and her daughter were playing hostesses this Christmas morning, preparing a breakfast for all those assembled at her insistence, George addressed Andrew Jackson.
“Ranger, could I have a private moment with you and David?” The Ranger replied with an inquisitive expression.
“Well, Sir, if that’s how you would prefer to spend your Christmas. I don’t want anything to interfere with time with your family.”
“It will just take a few minutes. A quick trip to the entrance way.” The Ranger nodded, heading over to where his son was listening to the others talk about what young people usually do. David rarely had much to say. His prison stay had limited the subjects he could talk about even if he had wanted to discuss something. A quick word, and both Jacksons were following George out to the large entrance way of the small mansion that was now the Presidential residence. Both wives and mothers noticed but held their questions. They would get the information from their husbands soon enough.
“I don’t wish to beat around the bush. Here is Commissioner Miller’s private phone line number. You are to call him first thing tomorrow. He is expecting the call.”
David broke his usual quiet demeanor and asked, “Why? Am I in trouble?”
“Far from it. Paul Miller thinks he can use you.”
“He knows of David’s record.” It was as much a statement as a question from the Ranger.
“Yes. He knows everything. In fact, he probably knows some things about you and I that we would just as soon keep quiet. Paul has a way of getting people to tell him things.”
“Yet he still wants to talk to me. Why?” David had a cold look in his eye. Prison had taught him not to allow himself to be pushed around, unless you wanted to be someone’s bitch. It was an experience he had avoided, and didn’t want to start now.
The Tsunami Page 59