If you were there you wouldn’t have believed it yourself.
For in their voices, their raised voices, that frigid white cloud of protest swelled and swelled and swelled some more.
And rise it did. Rise with every voice, every united voice pushing it higher and higher and higher still until it hovered there, some forty stories high.
And stilled itself.
Paused for a moment, and coalesced into something dense, something heavy and formidable.
Then, it began to snow.
And swirl, swirl, swirl into a vortex which, momentum gained, smashed into the tower’s windows. Showered with broken glass, the crowd below erupted into cheer and continued to feed the blizzard above.
Snowflakes by the thousand-millions poured into the throne room.
Like that little engine, I gave it all I could.
All I could.
Eventually, though, my tiny heart could chug on no more.
I fell to the ground; those about me gave me space and seeing my struggle, flipped me over to my back so I could see, with what little life remained, what happened next.
A thousand-million snowflakes pouring fourth. And I knew, I knew it then, that those very same snowflakes enveloped Grumpf the Never Great in the First Place, jammed tight there in his throne of gold as he was, bloated beyond repair as he was, in a furious and icy blizzard.
If I had lips, I would have smiled.
On Friday the 13th day of Christmas, King Grumpf froze to death, foiled by those same snowflakes united by the willingness to stand, united by the courage to kneel, united by a simple, yet most powerful mantra:
“No more!”
Author’s Note
Josh Bertetta is an adjunct faculty member in the Religious Studies Department at St. Edward’s University and the Director of Curriculum Development at a private progressive high school in Austin, Texas. A contributor to Flash Dog flash fiction anthologies, he written a biography for which he is seeking publication and is currently writing a multi-generational horror novel.
Author links: joshbertetta.wordpress.com
Three French Hens
Troy McLaughlan
Day Three
On the third day of Christmas, my true love gave to me…
Three French Hens
Troy McLaughlan
A Science Fiction Thriller
A plague has been unleased, and it doesn’t care that Black Ops Commander, Victor, is on vacation. Now in a race against time, Victor must come face to face with the sins of his past to stop the outbreak, without exposing an illicit relationship with a woman he’s desperate to keep a secret. But can he afford to save her and complete his mission…
This story is dedicated to you, the reader who, with all the millions of choices out there, decided to give my novella a chance. It is my hope that you find this story as thrilling to read as it was for me to write.
A huge thanks also goes to my family for putting up with the many late nights, weekends, and early mornings spent making this story possible. They are my inspiration.
Also, a special thank you goes to my writing partner, Joy, who got me involved in this crazy idea to write a story based on a line of a Christmas song. Without her and her encouragement, this story would have never seen the light of day.
1
“She was my only weakness and my greatest temptation.”
Victor, Special Agent - Black Ops Team ‘Blue Laser’
Victor’s cellphone rang, playing a dark orchestra tune of Vader’s Death March. He cracked open a sleepy eye and glanced at the time.
2:37 AM, shit.
He didn’t need to look at the phone to know who it was. Only one person was assigned that ring tone and there was only one reason he would call him at this hour.
Struggling to sit up, he dragged a hand down his face trying to shake the cobwebs from his mind. The phone continued to ring, and he stabbed the green answer button.
“I need you at the abandoned warehouse on Rue de la Burelle,” a faint voice rasped. “Meet me in half an hour and come alone.”
The line went dead. From the abruptness of the call and the soft tone of his commander’s voice, Victor knew this was serious. He inhaled deep and spat out the stale air. The seedy French motel room still reeked of an old-folks home.
Only six days before Christmas. Damn, I was really looking forward to a vacation.
While sliding his legs off the bed, he glanced at Delilah. Her back was turned from him. Her long raven hair lying in waves off her pillow. He followed the soft curve of the bedsheet that draped her spine and rounded her bottom.
He smiled.
Still sleeping.
Watching her sleep was one of his secret pleasures. He loved how peaceful and helpless she looked. It was the only time her beauty made him forget her predator-like abilities.
His hair stood on the back of his neck as he dressed. This liaison of theirs was strictly forbidden. It could get both of them expelled from the team and put on desk jobs. Maybe that’s what drew them to each other?
Taking out terrorist cells, hostage crises, and deep cover assignments no longer provided the thrill this affair had. For six months, they managed to keep it a secret; the excitement of breaking the rules drawing them into each other’s arms like moths to a flame.
It wasn’t love per se. He had no thoughts of getting married and starting a family. Neither of them wanted to give up their careers. It was more like a deep personal friendship. A stress relief from their high stakes job where the fate of nations depended on their clandestine actions.
His one weakness.
He took a final look at her before opening the door. Her face was peaceful, with a tiny curve of her smooth, tea rose lips. He rarely saw her smile like that when she was awake and it only enhanced her beauty. The urge to kiss her was overwhelming.
No, let her sleep. With our luck, it will be the last time she can for a while.
Victor pulled into the parking lot of the abandoned warehouse. He was ten minutes early and his commander, code name ‘BF’, was nowhere to be found, yet he knew he lurked somewhere out there. BF always showed up early. Any excuse to get out from behind his desk and do some actual field work. He turned his head and sized up the location for possible threats. It was force of habit, even though BF, undoubtedly, had already done it.
Only one streetlight worked near the corner, by the electrical station. The other one across the street was out, and a third just flickered. The road by the third streetlight branched into a T and made for a nice getaway. He probably made the call from there. It was the best spot to hide as the flickering light and shadows made an assassination attempt damn near impossible.
Victor moved his car just to the left of the lamppost and kept his foot above the accelerator. A couple of minutes later, BF’s face flashed in the passenger window. Victor unlocked the door, and he jumped inside.
“There’s not much time,” BF said, “so I’ll get right to the point.”
Victor chuckled. If only he had a dollar for every instant he heard that. In their line of work, time was always a luxury.
BF shifted in his seat. “Three hours ago, an animal rights activist group called the ‘Animal Liberation Union’ attacked a chicken farm on the outskirts of Orleans France. They shot the farm hands and graffitied the walls before releasing all the chickens out of their cages.”
Victor rolled his eyes, but didn’t say a word. After three years of running field ops for the Agency, he knew better than to interrupt, even as ridiculous as this sounded.
“Within thirty minutes of the attack, the DGSE sealed off the area. They used the local police to install roadblocks and shutdown all air traffic and trains into and out of a thirty kilometer zone.”
Victor’s shoulders straightened, and he took note of the aggressive military response. The DGSE was France’s equivalent to the CIA and if they were involved, this was bound to be serious.
“The farm is actually a front for a biol
ogical weapons lab. The farm hands were guards, and the lab was in an underground bunker. They were making a strain of bird flu and three of the infected hens are missing.”
“Missing?” Victor said. “Were they taken?”
“The French don’t know. The cameras were hacked. From what they told us, the missing hens are carrying a deadly form of avian bird flu that kills seventy percent of its human hosts, and the French have no vaccine.” BF took a deep breath. “The virus is air-born, and the lab is sixteen kilometers from a major population center. Given the Christmas holidays, it could spread around the globe in two weeks if not contained.”
“Mother-of-God,” Victor whispered. “So why call us? This is clearly an internal matter.”
“The French have signed the international biological weapons ban. Given this and the proximity of your team, they want us to deal with it. Prevents the French local authorities and the press from finding out and gives them plausible deniability in case of any… complications.”
Victor sighed.
Damn French.
His team had been putting out fires all over the globe for the last eleven months. The usual stuff: assassinating a local terrorist leader, intercepting an Iranian arms shipment, fomenting a revolution… He brought them to France for a little R&R. Delilah really wanted to see the Eiffel Tower and tour the Louvre.
“You’ve got forty-eight hours to find and kill those hens plus anyone infected,” BF said.
Victor grabbed his arm. “You’ve got to be kidding me.” He was used to unreasonable deadlines, but this was damn near impossible.
His commander didn’t skip a beat. “If you can’t accomplish your task by then, JANX will take over and run the Plan-B.”
JANX? Not that crazy bastard!
“And what’s he going to do? Drop a nuke on it?”
“More or less. There’s an ammonium nitrate fertilizer plant in the city. If you don’t succeed, that plant going to have a little accident. The resulting explosion will level the town. When the survivors are evacuated to relief centers, JANX team will swoop in and use the chaos to check for those infected and make them disappear.”
What a mind job. He’s going to trade thousands for millions.
The explosion would be similar to the Oklahoma City bombing only on a massive scale with thousands of tons of fertilizer. It was the typical blood calculus they all engaged in to justify their actions, only JANX took it to the extreme.
“And the French know about this?”
BF raised his eyebrows. “Now you’re kidding me. Plausible deniability, remember.” He handed Victor a manila envelope. “Everything you need is in here. Given the sensitive nature of your assignment, only five members of your team are to be directly involved. You can use the rest for support, but they can’t know what’s going on. Understood?”
Victor nodded. Yeah, he understood. Limiting access was the only way to prevent leaks.
“One more thing. There are to be no digital records of this mission and make sure your team takes a little time off to pop in at some local tourist spots. You’ll want to keep up appearances in case the shit hits the fan.”
“Perfect, two more things that’ll slow us down.”
BF put a firm hand on his shoulder. “Good luck,” he said and then exited the car. In a flash of a flickering light, he disappeared.
Victor stared at the manila envelope, turning it like a precious diamond. A Christmas song came to mind, and he chuckled, musing at the absurdity of his situation.
“Three French hens,” he whispered.
2
It took thirty minutes for Victor to gather his thirty-six man team and brief them on their new assignment. They then boarded private jets for the twenty minute flight to Orleans France. Victor picked five members of the squad to be on his command crew, the ones who would know everything. Well, almost everything.
When he told them the details, their reactions varied from stunned surprise, to amusement, to irritation. All except for Delilah, nothing seemed to get under her skin.
“This has got to be the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard of,” David said. He pounded his fist on the padded arm of his luxury jet seat. “Typical French FUBAR!”
David was a huge mass of a man at six foot four inches and two hundred and forty pounds. A former Marine with a biting, almost insubordinate attitude and just what Victor wanted on this mission. He always said the first thing that came to mind with no filters. Honesty among spies was almost as rare as time.
Victor stood and put a firm hand on his shoulder. “The French government doesn’t have any idea this lab exists, and it’s our job to make sure it stays that way. This was a Black Box project funded through back channels by a French general.”
“But what you’re asking is impossible,” Mitch said. “Even if we restrict our search to the area inside the roadblocks, there’s got to be over twenty square miles. There’s no way a squad of five people can canvas that in forty-eight hours.”
Mitch was the newest member of their team. A tech savvy graduate from MIT with large, black rimmed glasses, unkempt black hair, and grungy clothing. He almost looked like he was still in high-school. Most team leaders wouldn’t even think about including someone this raw on their command crew. Victor, however, knew a newb like him hadn’t been jaded yet, and therefore, could be counted on not to leak information.
“You’re right,” Victor said. “It would be impossible, except were going to have help; the kind that can keep a secret.”
Each member of the team relaxed their bodies and leaned in.
“Mitch, you’re going to run ops for this mission. A command center is being setup at the airport, and you’ll be in charge.”
“Once we land, we’ll have three stealthed drones in the air programed to search for the hens with a fourth one in route from our base in Afghanistan.” Victor held up an eight by eleven photo. “Fortunately the hens have very distinct markers: white plumage with black tips and black comb and wattles. I want you to monitor the drones. If they’re out in the open, it’ll make them easy to spot. You’re to coordinate any hits with David and Karen.”
“During your down time, hack into the hospitals in the area and look for new admittances. Peculiar skin rashes, gunshots, anything unusual. Keep an eye on the web traffic as well for news of strange illnesses or chicken sightings.”
“Gotcha,” Mitch said over the rumble of the jet engine. “Are the drones armed?”
“Yeah, standard Hellfires, but I’d prefer we not use them unless we have to. If you get time, hack into the Animal Liberation Union’s website and see what you can dig up. Bravo Team will be using you as their contact for leads on the bugs they’ll plant on ALU members.”
Mitch began tapping his foot. “Understood.”
Victor turned to a woman in the second row of the plane with thick strawberry blonde hair wearing a beige, button down sweater and slacks. “Karen, can you speak the language?”
She leaned back in her chair, looked at her fingernails, and rattled off what he had just said for the last couple of minutes, only translated into French; a testament not only of her language abilities, but her razor-sharp memory.
Victor smiled. Of course she can. Karen held multiple degrees and studied abroad. Her ability to blend in was a key reason why he picked her. “All right, David and Karen you’re going to be our hunter / killer team. While I investigate the lab, you’re going to drive around the surrounding area and question the locals.” He handed Karen a bulging manila envelope. “Your cover stories are here along with your IDs. Karen’s in charge.”
David arched an eyebrow and then returned to his somber face.
“Not only are you going to be looking for any signs of the hens, but also any sick individuals showing the specific symptoms listed in your cover story.”
Karen had already emptied the envelope and sifted through the contents. She picked up a highlighted printed page and leaned forward, putting a closed hand to her chin.
“And if we find anyone with the symptoms?”
Victor swallowed hard. “Then you’re authorized to kill them and anyone else on the property.”
She raised her eyebrows.
“Make it look like an accident. A fire, gas leak, whatever you can think of. I’ve requisitioned a cache of bug bombs that you can use.”
Bug bombs were nerve agent canisters disguised as one liter soda bottles. They contained a heat degradable nerve agent and compressed flammable gas. Just one was perfect for killing everyone in a house while setting the entire structure ablaze.
She dropped the paper and gave Victor a piercing stare with her cold hazel eyes. “You want us to do this before we find the chickens?”
“The symptoms are very specific, and there’s no guarantee the hens will still be on the property. We have to eliminate all potential hosts if we’re to contain this.”
She looked at David who shrugged his shoulders.
Victor couldn’t blame her for having second thoughts. It was one thing to kill a terrorist who had butchered dozens; it was something else to kill an innocent even if it meant saving millions. Blood calculus.
David shifted in his seat. “What if we see the chickens nearby some civilians?” he blurted out.
“Then you’re to shoot them on sight.”
His eyes flashed. “In front of the locals? I thought we were trying to keep this a secret?”
Some turbulence shook the aircraft and Victor grabbed one of the overhead bins to brace himself. “We don’t have the time to be careful. We’ll deal with the repercussions from law enforcement later. If you have a shot, you take it.”
“Delilah, how’s your French?”
She stood up from the far back row, lowered her eyes, and swayed her waist length raven hair. All the while, whispering a dozen French curse words, including two he’d never heard before. She finished with a predator-like smirk that showed the bottom of one of her canines. It sent Victor’s pulse racing.
12 Days of Christmas: A Christmas Collection Page 8