Ride of the Valkyries

by Stuart Slade

  "How do you tell the difference between a dead rat and a dead Finn lying in the roadway?"

  "I don't know my friend, how?"

  "There'll be skid marks in front of the rat." Another gale of laughter swept the room and Tarrant got a clap on the back that nearly dislocated his shoulders. The Russians hated the Germans with an intense passion, yet one that was mixed with grudging respect for their military skill. Their hatred for the Finns was mixed with nothing but contempt. That had come out in the Russo-Finnish peace treaty of 1949. It had been savage almost beyond belief; it had left Finland gravely reduced in territory, disarmed and paying a reparations bill that would impoverish them beyond the end of the century.

  "How are the repairs on Vicious Vixen going?" The RB-58F had been patched up quickly down south then flown up to Sheremetevo for further repairs. After they had been completed, she would be flown back to Convair for a complete rebuild and conversion to RB-58G standard.

  "Very well. We have three Tiger Teams here working on her and the other two damaged birds, and three C-150s full of spare parts. And the stage show for your concerts." This time a loud cheer split the air around the Mess. The USO had come up trumps. They'd organized not one but three concerts for the Russian fighter groups. It never did any harm to be known as people who paid their debts unstintingly. Which brought up another matter.

  "Any word about what's happening in the Caliphate Ivan?"

  Major Ivan Josevich Peterenko shook his head. "Both our assets and yours can detect nothing. Your SR-71s did reconnaissance runs over the targets and brought back the post-strike images. We destroyed them all but were they all that was there to be destroyed? I think not and missing what we have will come back to haunt us one day. Their radars are down, their surviving fighters are grounded. I think they do nothing that might bring down a follow-up attack on them. That is unusually wise of them. We even sent an Ilyushin electronics bird over the border to smell around and they did nothing.:

  "Perhaps this bombing taught them something that they failed to learn from Yaffo?"

  "Perhaps. We hope so. But if our attacks have stopped just another atrocity like Beslan. . . ." There was a grim silence around the Mess now, memories of Beslan damping the party spirit. To a nation that had nearly been wiped out, that had lost a huge percentage of its young men and a much smaller, but still terrifying, proportion of its young women, children were a sacred trust. Even now, a quarter of a century after the war had ended, Russian was a country of the very old and the very young with a yawning gap between. Children were safe in Russia; everybody looked out for them, everybody protected them. So the massacre at Beslan had seared deep into the national soul. That debt had been paid, unstintingly, with nuclear fire. The memory of the mushroom clouds rising over those responsible brought cheer back to the party.

  "Still, my friends, we have done what we can and the rest can wait. Now, where is that wretched bar maid with the vodka."

  Peterenko shook his head with shame and grief. "That a guest in Russia should have an empty glass in his hand. ..."

  Saint Joseph's Church, Naperville, Illinois, USA

  "Brothers and sisters, we are gathered together here in both grief and celebration. Grief that our beloved sister Jane Cooper has been taken from us but also a celebration of her life that brought so much joy to all who knew her and contributed so much to our community.

  "Of Jane herself, every person here has memories of her kindness and generosity. When sickness struck a family, it was Jane who was first to offer help. It was to Jane that we all turned when any one of us needed comfort or advice. Jane never turned the needy away from her door and never denied those who were in serious want. When her own time came and she started her battle with cancer, who does not remember her courage and steadfastness? And, when the time came that she realized this was a battle she could not win, who cannot fail to have been impressed by her quiet dignity as she made her final arrangements for the inevitable?

  "Beyond Jane herself we have her family, her husband James, who has been left without the support of his loving wife, who was his best friend for so many years. Yet, he is not left alone for Jane gave him five fine children. Four of them are here today, two sons, two daughters, with children of their own. A decent, honorable, upstanding family, a credit to our community and to Jane itself who had the satisfaction of seeing her first grandchildren before she was called home. Let us never forget the child who is not here today, in body at least although his spirit surely looks down upon us. I speak, of course, of her eldest son, William Cooper, who, at the age of 19, sacrificed his life, fighting for his country, in the snows of Russia.'"

  There was a brief silence as the congregation looked at the wreaths in the church. One had two flags, the Russian tricolor and the other the Stars and Stripes, crossed together. Brought by the local chapter of the Russian-American Friendship League. There was a representative of that League in the congregation and some of William Cooper's old comrades from the 84th Infantry had turned up as well.

  "We can comfort ourselves with the knowledge that Jane is now reunited with her oldest son and both now enjoy the rewards of a life well-spent. Yet, Jane's family extended far beyond her own. In a way, we can all claim to be part of her family. Jane spent so much of her time teaching the children of this community, opening their eyes to the new world she herself had found in her own love of dance. She brought history to life with her stories of the Prohibition era, putting faces and characters to the names that would otherwise be just words on the pages of a book. The rest of us remember her ‘other' stories of those years." A gentle ripple of laughter spread around the congregation for, after the children had gone to bed, Jane Cooper had told racier tales, ones that drew from her own days as a dancer in one of Chicago's more notorious night-clubs. Privately, not a few members of the congregation wondered what the glittering showgirl called Jane Andrews had seen in the staid, unexciting car salesman James Cooper.

  "And so, we must indeed mix our grief at losing Jane with a celebration of all the gifts she brought to our community and gratitude for the time that she was able to spend with us. So, may I ask you to join together in Hymn number.......'"

  After the service, the Pastor stood with James Cooper beside the door talking quietly with the members of the congregation as they paid their last respects and left. One couple was unusual enough to stop them, a man who appeared to be in his late 50s with a bushy mustache that already showed the whitening of age, was accompanied by a younger woman, late 30s at most, with stunning red hair.

  "My condolences, Mister Cooper." The man spoke slowly and gravely. "William always spoke of his mother with great love. Her spirit helped us all out there, even though most of us had never met her. Her kindness and warmth somehow shone through to us from William."

  "You knew my son in Russia?" James Cooper's voice nearly cracked.

  "He was a tower of strength Sir. One of those men everybody in the unit turned to for support. I never got a chance to say good-bye myself, with everything that happened. So, when we were in Chicago on Government business and I saw the notice, I just had to come."

  Cooper picked his ears up on the words "Government business". Then he looked at the woman a little more closely. "Excuse me ma'am, aren't you Naamah Sammale? The President's Executive Assistant? I saw your picture on the news after the Senate Steps Shooting."

  "That's right Sir." Naamah spoke carefully, mentally noting that this was going to be a growing problem, one The Seer needed to think about. Just how long could they stay in the shadows with television spotlights around? "We felt privileged to come. Your Jane sounded like a wonderful person."

  "She was. Thank you both for coming, with everything that's been happening, we're honored that you came."

  They bobbed at each other and moved on. Behind them, unnoticed by either party, one of the other guests apparently started speaking to his thumb.

  "Gunman and Deadeyes are out. Be advised, there's a friend here as well." Ever
since the Senate Steps Shooting, Naamah had had a Secret Service bodyguard, one who knew the significance of the words ‘Persons of Special Interest.' "He's moving in on our subjects." Her bodyguard watched the other Secret Service Agent approach his charge.

  "Miss Sammale. Didn't expect to see you here."

  "Agent Delgado. We didn't expect to see you either. We thought you would be in Cuba or something."

  "No such luck. I thought the same though, I assumed you would be in Cuba with the rest of the party from the NSC. Did you know Janey?"

  "No, but I knew her son in the Army. So this was my chance to pay my respects." Henry McCarty's voice was still slow and grave. Delgado marked that little piece of information down. That was one of the characteristics of the ‘Persons of Special Interest' that drove the Secret Service mad. Try and find out anything about their backgrounds and the paper trail ended up going in circles. Frustrating.

  "The Delgados have been friends of the family for decades. Way back when, when Janey was still dancing in the clubs, there was a ruckus one night. My gramps was there with a couple of associates, Sean Mahoney and James O'Hare. O'Hare wasn't a bad sort according to Gramps but Mahoney was a really nasty piece of work. He got way out of line started throwing his weight around and was about to work Janey over with a set of brass knuckles.

  "Gramps was about to put a stop to it when some crazy old coot with a howitzer straight out of the Wild West came running down from the entrance hall, blazing away like there was no tomorrow. Bullets all over the place according to Gramps, could have gone anywhere but one killed Mahoney dead on the spot, which wasn't a loss, and another blew a hole in O'Hare which killed him a week later. Gramps pulled Janey out of the line of fire but caught a shot doing it. Lost his right arm and that meant he missed the St. Valentines Day Massacre so he got religion. Did it properly, got ordained and everything. He was the pastor here for a while. Anyway, he kept in touch with Janey and the families stayed close. Still are.'"

  Henry shook his head. "Amazing story. They must have been lively times back then. Anybody ever find what happened to the old guy?"

  "Ran out, never seen again. Not alive anyway. There was a November Witch blowing and those storms are killers. His body was found frozen in an alley a few days later. Frank Nitti sprung for the funeral, he owned the night club. So the old guy got put away properly. He was the club doorman or something. Anyway, Capone himself turned up, guess he kind of respected the man who blew away three of the opposition with a museum piece. Janey cried really bad about the whole thing, she really liked the old guy. Guess he was kind of a father to her, her own old man was a piece of, well, he's dead now. Leave it unsaid. You going straight back to Washington?"

  "We are Agent Delgado. We've got a Superstream waiting for us, want a supersonic ride back?"

  "That'd be great Ma'am. I'd love it." And, thought Delgado, maybe a chance to learn something more about the mysterious ‘Persons of Special Interest'.

  Peterson Household, Alexandria, Virginia, USA

  Judith Peterson heard her husband close the front door and hugged herself in delight. The delivery man had brought the package that afternoon and it was sitting on the kitchen table unopened.

  "Darling, it's here. . ."

  David Peterson's eyes lit up. He barely stopped to kiss his wife as he headed for the securely-wrapped package on the table. The outer package of cardboard and tape surrendered quickly to reveal a black plastic case. Peterson released the catches on the side and lifted the lid. Inside was a violin-case shaped wooden box, highly polished with a brass nameplate on the top. It read ‘Auto Ordnance Corporation Of America.' Peterson was almost holding his breath as he opened the locks.

  Inside was a 1921 model Thompson sub-machine gun, its dark, blued metal contrasting beautifully with the polished walnut stock and twin pistol grips. There were three magazines in the case; a 30-round stick, a 50-round drum and a 100 round drum. Also inside was a copy of "The Gun That Made The Twenties Roar" signed by Meyer Lansky himself. The gun rested in the purple velvet of its case, its finned barrel sat in the cutout. It gave real meaning to the phrase that a thing of beauty was a joy forever. It was a special edition weapon, one that could only be purchased in Cuba. Its quality put the cheaper versions on sale in the States to shame.

  "Oh Dave, it's beautiful. You're are not going to take that with you if the town call out the militia are you?"

  Her husband shook his head, his eyes still glued on the Thompson. "I could though, nothing would happen to it. After all, its Constitutionally protected."

  He and his wife looked at each other and burst out laughing. When the New York assault on the Second Amendment had come before the Supreme Court, the Justices had finally spelled out exactly what the Amendment said. They'd started by confirming that the right to keep and bear arms was an individual right. After all, in the other nine amendments that made up the Bill of Rights "the people" referred to individuals not collectives. There was no reason to presume that the Second was any different. They'd gone on to define "arms" as any weapon that could be carried and used by a single person.

  So far, so good. The counsel for the National Rifle Association was beaming happily. Then, the Justices had gone on to state that the first phrase of the Amendment meant that its purpose was to provide a body of armed citizens from whom a local authority could raise a militia to act in service of that community. So, they had opined, the Amendment specifically protected only those weapons that were militarily useful. Revolvers, pistols, manual-action, semiautomatic and automatic rifles, sub-machine guns and light machine guns were all constitutionally protected. Authorities could only regulate or prohibit weapons that had no military use. And that, the Justices averred, meant weapons that were only suited for sporting or hunting purposes. The counsel for the NRA abruptly stopped smiling. His lifetime gravy train had just ended.

  They had ended up by pointing out that under the 14th Amendment, the States or other local administrations couldn't abridge the rights granted under the Second. With a certain flourish, they'd ended up by stating that given this interpretation, all Federal, State and Local firearms regulations, including the National Firearms Act of 1934, were unconstitutional and were set aside with immediate effect unless it could be shown they complied with the Justice's ruling. Having dropped that bombshell, the Justices retired, leaving the entire courtroom stunned into silence. Years later, the Chief Justice had been interviewed on television and it had been proposed that the Court's ruling owed much to the Justices feeling that they couldn't please everybody so they might as well upset everybody. The Chief Justice had replied "I couldn't possibly comment."

  David Peterson picked the Thompson up, checked that the chamber was clear and peered down the sights. "I can't wait to get this to the range."

  "You'll have to Dave. We lost twice as much money as we expected in Cuba and the way that thing will eat ammunition, we can't buy enough until we hit the end of the month. Unless of course.

  "I don't want us borrowing money from your friends." Peterson's voice was slightly petulant, his desire to flaunt his new Thompson down at the range conflicting with his reluctance to take advantage of his wife's strange background.

  "We wouldn't be. Look, Dave, Nefertiti's circle has two sets of funds, I've told you this. Each of us has their own and we all kick in from our earnings into a common pool. I've been doing that since. . . for years." Judith stopped herself from going further. "That money is invested and it is a common pool. For anybody who needs it. I can ask Lillith what my share would be and we can draw a little out. Pay it back later if we wish. If not, well, it's our money. They've just invested it for us. Very well too. Those investments made us all a fortune."

  Peterson sighed. "I know, I tell you what, we'll wait for the end of the month and go down to the range together. I've got to take this apart and clean it out anyway. It's probably coated with cosmoline inside. That'll take a week or two."

  "OK then." Judith wagged her finger at him. "B
ut don't you dare scratch the finish!"

  Parliament House, Canberra ACT, Australia

  "The election results are in Madam Ambassador. Congress Party two hundred and ninety five seats, the BJP two hundred and forty, the rest divided between the small parties. Indira Gandhi is the Prime Minister again. I must admit to a great sense of relief."

  Australian Prime Minister John Barry Gardinier relaxed and looked at his guest. What had seemed like a hare-brained scheme had come off. Vajpayee had been a disaster as a Prime Minister but it had never occurred to him that he could be toppled. Then again, things had worked out just right, everything had come together in just the right way to make it possible.

  "‘We were very fortunate JBG. Very fortunate indeed. If the Viraat hadn't been hit when she was, it would have been much more difficult to persuade him to accept that peace offer. And the Americans preparing to go in as they were, it meant the right atmosphere of fear and worry helped him make the decision. Just as the relief when the bombers were home and we knew it was all over helped the debate in the house. Yes, everything worked out very well for us."

  "it would concern me if things were that finely balanced again."

  "We must make sure that it never happens. We were lucky this time, the Americans made sure the fighting remained local and that worked for us. We cannot be sure this will be the case again. Our alliance must be made stronger, more certain. A defensive alliance has worked well to date. That is certain but we are outgrowing that."

  "A Federation, Madam Ambassador? That is a long step to take and I do not think it will be accepted. We still have our links with the Commonwealth. They may not be of real value now but they are of great sentimental import. I do not think the people here will tolerate them being discarded."

  "A Federation? No, I think not; not in this generation or the one after it. Perhaps, in the fullness of time it may come. I was thinking of ways to lock us closer together so that it would be more difficult for a situation like this to happen again."