Tag Archives: Robert Hoyt

Chapter 6 – Seven Bombs A-Bursting

Seven Bombs A-Bursting

My mind raced. Besides being yet another example of this lunatic’s terrible sense of humor, I had no idea what “Tannenbaum” was. But there were no prizes for a good guess. If he was opening silos, then he had missiles on base. And not the tiny peashooters we had just been wallowing in, but proper ICBMs.

Hafton turned to me. “You really think he can slur us, the way he said?”

I grimaced. “I don’t know. But it doesn’t matter. I don’t care where my name goes, but I do care what happens to the people that Tannenbaum is aimed at. Graile?”

“Yes, sir?”

“We need to get you up to that control room right away. Tannenbaum is almost certainly electronically controlled. That means that you should be able to shut it off, or at least realign it. The real question is, how do we get upstairs?”

I looked around the room. It had a high ceiling, three card-keyed doors, and what appeared to be mirrors near the ceiling, which were probably one-way glass . Those had to be looking out from the control room. But where on Earth was the silo?

It was ironically at that moment that I realized this room was vaguely cylindrical, and that the roof cap had a line down the center where I could just imagine it splitting. And at the very same instant, I felt the floor start to slide away beneath me.

I leapt away from the expanding gap. Half my team, including Graile, was pulled away as the floor ground out of position. The other half, including Thyger, was stranded on the other side.

Below, in the huge hole that was forming, I could just make out the rising shape of the world’s largest metal Christmas tree. Above, the cold sting of Arctic air reached down and choked the room in its grasp.
I thought fast. The missiles had never had warheads put in them in the production line. As quick as I could, I ran for the disappearing work-table, lunged for it, and grabbed one of the warheads.

I leapt backwards onto the platform just as the floor disappeared. We had a way up.

“Graile,” I said, handing him the small warhead, “Do you think you can open the door with this?”

He nodded, and pulled out a screwdriver.

“Yes, sir.”

Graile was not Thyger, but he was also not a bad man with explosives.

He turned it over and over in his hands, and then I saw him reach for his radio.

“I think I might be able to make this sucker work, Cap. But what are the other men going to do?” he asked, pulling out a screwdriver and applying it mysteriously to the tip of the warhead.

I thought about it as Graile opened the payload container. If I could have, I would have had whom provide support, but these doors precluded that. Tannenbaum was probably mostly electronic, but almost certainly not all. When the time came, it would pay to have eyes on the ground.

“Thyger, take your team down into the hole.” I said, holding the radio up to my mouth. After all, Thyger knew everything ever known about explosives. If there was any way to disarm those things personally, he’d find it.”

He nodded. “Roger that, sir.” He said, clicking shut the screwdriver, and hefting the warhead. “I think that I’ve got this thing adjusted. The original amount of explosive in this thing would have killed us, but those doors are also blast proof. Word of warning, sir, you may want to cover your ears.” He turned around, and walked to the door, propping the explosive on it, and then retreated to the ledge. I followed suit.

“Alright Captain. Heading up now. I’ll give you an update when we reach the control room.”

“Copy,” I said, and grabbed the radio to tell Thyger the plan.

They were on the catwalk below, when the door exploded.

* * *

The first thing we proved for certain was that there HAD been guards. Emphasis on the past tense. There are things that a three hundred pound door can do to the human body when blasted into it at force, and those things are even more explicit and horrible when they happen to an elf. The entire walkway was covered, all the way up to the control room, in pieces of elves.

But they were not expecting their door to disappear, which meant that we were unerringly effective when we used the relatively simple tactic of walking through the doors with rifles in automatic mode and spraying wherever there was green. We literally blazed the path to the control room through a wall of corpses. When we reached the control room, we found perhaps the biggest shock we had gotten yet.

It was completely empty. There was not a single soul in sight.

Graile looked concerned.

“What is it, Graile?”

He turned to me as the others shut and secured the doors.

“Two things, sir. One, it was too simple. At this stage in the game, he should be expecting that we are capable of dealing with these elves as fast as he cares to throw them at us. Two, we didn’t see any elves on the way here who looked anything but soldierly. Given the high level of organization here, technology specialists would have some sort of different outward marking to denote them.”

I shook my head. “I’m not quite following your point here, Graile.”

“Well, sir, the missiles had to be activated somehow, and I don’t think technologically gifted elves are responsible. They’d have to head for the other door, which leads nowhere, in order to avoid us. I won’t discount an additional passageway, but given the structure of this base from appearances, I don’t think it’s likely either.” He stepped up to the computer, slipped a device for password cracking into the USB slot, and then checked the console for an antenna, “Which means that our friend Kristopher is probably in a direct link with this base. And that makes him vulnerable to my finding out where he is.”

An LED light on the base of the password cracker turned green. The OS came up with a completely straight-faced, slightly intimidating boot screen proclaiming that the machine was running “LinXmas”, with the words arranged like a Christmas tree. Unsurprisingly, the account had the familiar eye and crossed candy canes emblem as the background. That, and an OLED keyboard which glowed green, until you pressed a key, whereupon the key turned red.

But what was shocking was the very small accompanying holographs on either side showing three dimensional cross sections of the missile.

Seven stages of branches in Tannenbaum. Seven major cities set to go up.

This didn’t suggest that Kristopher was a technophobe.

I grabbed Grail’s shoulder.

“Graile, I think he wants us to trace him. This guy knows what he’s doing with technology, and it isn’t being stacked in blocks. Bring up the missile systems first.”

Graile narrowed his eyes.

“Copy, sir,” he said, typing a few buttons. The OS had a three dimensional GUI, and from the back of a stack of files, the missile stats emerged, complete with convenient timer. In a way which no longer surprised me, the minuites, seconds, and milliseconds were highlighted in alternating red and green.

We had about twelve minutes.

“Alright, Graile, now, can you check what computers are connected to the network?”

“Roger,” he said, gazing over a few boxes of black windows with white text. He frowned.

“Hmm. That’s odd. There seems to be a connection being used currently to monitor the missile control files. I can’t tell where it’s coming from.” He tapped a few keys.

“But I can certainly find out.” he said. And before I could stop him, he pressed the enter key.

And the numbers started moving much faster. A voice recording came over all the speakers at once in the room. It was Kristopher again.

“You see, gentlemen? I told you that you were responsible!” he said. And then he laughed. It was funny, how it had always seemed so jolly when it was written in children’s books. And then when you heard it for real, it was strange how obviously it was a cruel sound uttered by any outsized playground bully as he ground someone’s face into the dirt.

“ Ho, Ho, Ho!”

* * *

The clock was moving about four times as fast. This was a horrible thing to watch, but it meant de facto that we had about three minuites.

“Don’t you dare stop that trace. Keep it running in the background if you have to,” I screamed.

A voice came crackling over the radio. “Captain Mesner, this is Thyger. No signs of anyone down here, but the landing arms just retracted and the reference screens in this pit are flashing like crazy. What are you doing up there, sir?”

“That seasonally obsessed SOB saw us coming a mile away, Thyger. Can you come up?”

The voice came back over the radio.

“Love to sir, but no dice. The blast shield is coming out over the top. Tell Graile to shut that thing off, pronto.”

I turned to Graile.

“How is it coming?” I said, looking over his shoulder. Windows appeared and disappeared at a desperate rate.

“Not well, sir.” He said, shaking his head slightly. He was sweating profusely.

“He’s tied network files up in this rocket three or four times over per. I’m trying to keep that trace going, but…”

The timer was moving down past what I calculated to be one and a half. I picked up the radio again.

“Thyger, you get the team as far away from the engines as possible, and try to get behind some form of blast proof shelter. I don’t know how this is going to go.”

“Yes, sir,” he said.

“Don’t talk. Run!” I said.

I turned back to Graile. His fingers were dancing in complex little arcs over the keyboard. Forty-five seconds.

“How’s it coming, Graile?” I said. And then he stopped dead.

“I think I’ve got an idea, sir,” he said. Thirty seconds.

He leaned over the keyboard, and then his hands really started to move. He typed away like a demon, bringing up the main engine programs.

As the clock raced towards zero, he raced through values, cutting them and replacing them with other values, changing and distributing.

I saw him hit the enter key at five seconds. I saw the “Compiling” task bar come up. And then, as the timer hit zero, nothing happened.

Nothing, that is, except for an additional timer coming up.

“Graile?” I asked the technology specialist as he slumped in the chair in a pool of perspiration, “What is that?”

He didn’t even look. “That, sir, is the ETA of the missile. It thinks it launched.” I stared at him, trying to work through this.

“I’m sorry?” I said, glaring at him.

He wiped his face, and looked up.

“Well, sir, it occurred to me that that even if the missile splits into segments as it appears to, the projectiles would still cause considerable damage when they landed. Not a mushroom cloud, but still. And then it occurred to me, why disable the bombs? You can’t, in any case, because they were all adjusted onboard, and hardwired. The guidance software is the only thing you can tap into by network, presumably so that they can alter flight paths. And I’m fairly sure I violated several international laws doing so, because Kristopher’s satellites were not forthcoming.”

“So, in essence, we are currently sitting right on top of the future ground zero for seven ICBMs, each capable of taking out a city by themselves?”

He stood up. “You sir. Exactly.”

Leave a comment

Filed under Uncategorized

Chapter 5 – Eight Blades A-Slicing

Eight Blades A-Slicing

The blast of air pushed me out of the pipe like a cork, followed closely by my men. I saw a rush of a rust colored world, terminated abruptly with my face pressed against a projection of sizzling galvanized steel. A wave of heat hit me in the face with such force I swore that I was going to pass out. The fumes were unbearable.

But I didn’t have time to think, for almost immediately I felt my weight shifting forward, so that I got a really good look at what I was going to fall into.

Six feet down was a roiling, bubbling pool of liquid metal, spewing acrid smoke as the projections on the floor, which were in fact shallow buckets, submerged themselves and emerged full on the other side of the conveyer belt

My heart leapt into my throat, which was even worse because the position I was in meant that it was significantly closer to the metal.

With all my strength, I scrambled backwards desperately, pushing my men off my back. The floor was like touching a hot stove. I struggled to my feet as quickly as possible, blowing on my scalded hands. The floor was toiling forward relentlessly, trying to pull me back into the pool of metal.

When my brain started working again, I deduced through the haze of adrenaline that we had to be somewhere on an assembly line.

I choked on the noxious fumes, and called out hoarsely.

“Graile! Do you see any control boxes? We need to shut this thing off.”

Graile struggled to his feet, and started pacing the treadmill at a steady backwards jog.

“I’m sorry, sir, but no dice.”

I stumbled again, and tried to take stock of the men.

All my men had gotten into the treadmill pacing, thank heavens, but there was no doubt that the metal pool was the center of attention. Every fiber of my body wanted out. The choking air would have been difficult to breathe at normal temperatures. In the upper hundreds, it was impossible.

I tried to think. We certainly couldn’t keep pacing forever, or even for a short time, in this heat. We needed to get out, and we needed to get out now.

The most likely way that we had of getting out, barring explosives, was using a way that the elves used to get in. This equipment, like all equipment in the universe, probably needed regular care, and that meant someone had to come in and perform it.

So, in theory, somewhere around there should have been maintenance tunnels. But where on earth would they be?

I looked at the walls. In truth, I could have spent my entire life searching over the complex riveted entanglements covering them, and if they contained a hundred passageways I’d never find one.

…I stopped myself. I was thinking about it the wrong way. You could find a needle in a haystack in no time, if you could get the needle to come to you. If something broke here, then they’d come running, and in doing so show us that tunnel.

But the only weak spot was…

I winced, and steeled myself. Still jogging backwards, tripping over the rows of buckets as they advanced into the pit, I turned to my men.

“Hot enough for you, gentlemen? I think I’ve figured a way out of here, but I can’t guarantee we won’t get boiled, and I apologize in advance. Thyger?”

He turned to me, sweating hard in the heat. I wasn’t surprised. Given his usual stock of explosives, he was at great risk of spontaneous combustion.
“Can you throw a grenade into that ventilation shaft ?”

* * *

What followed the explosion was the longest ten minuites of my life. The shaft clearly caved in, because the room instantly got more hostile.

Unsurprisingly, the vent shaft had in fact been for noxious fumes. The fan was there to clear obstructions, like us, which would then be subsequently dropped into molten metal. The rest of the time, it filtered away poisonous gases, which incidentally was about all we had to breathe now. It also kept the machinery cool, which was also failing to happen with equal certainty, being as my boot soles were starting to melt.

This is in part the reason why, when an elf first stepped through the door, I want a medal merely for breaking his jaw rather then shooting him. Sit in a pressure cooker filled with ammonia for ten minuites, then go head to head with an enemy to whom death is mildly unpleasant but not permanent, and you’ll have a pretty good idea of why. But right at that moment, it mattered more to me that I get out of the room then exact petty revenge.

I’d have plenty of time for that later.

Of course, it soon became clear that you needed a given definition of “out”. It was another room bordered in the same oppressive rust colored walls. In fact, the elf had not emerged through a maintenance tunnel at all, but merely an adjacent room. I saw, coming down the assembly line at speed, large pieces of metal that had probably been molded from the molten metal we had nearly fallen into.

Suddenly, I understood the shape of the factory. It was a big coiled assembly line, allowing maximal efficiency in a limited space.

But anything was better then the last room. I lead the men in, trying to stay on the nearly non-existent margins. The floor was moving a great deal faster in here, but if we could just stay on these, we’d be OK.

So, naturally, I was not precisely pleased when we rounded the corner on both the end of the margin, and a huge stamping machine slamming down with grim regularity. It was warping the pieces of metal into a shape it looked willing to demonstrate to us firsthand if we weren’t careful.

I let out my breath very slowly, and then turned to face the men.

“Alright, gentlemen, listen up. We’re not going to get very far on these margins, and we’ll never find those doorways, so we need to go through the machinery.”

In unison, they leaned forward off the margin to get a look at the machine blocking the way. It wasn’t hard to tell what they were thinking. You could time it, but you wouldn’t want to if you could help it. Unfortunately, we couldn’t. I waved my hand out in order to get their attention, and they obediently if reluctantly focused on me. Their faces were stern, but certainly not happy. These men were well past having the gung-ho squeezed out of them some time ago.

“Look, I know you don’t like it. Trust me, I’m not wild about it either. But I needn’t remind you that there are millions of boys and girls on this planet who are going to wake up on Christmas morning to perfectly gift-wrapped bombs, unless we find a way to get through, and preferably to stop whatever this belt is running off.”

One of the men, Balkans, raised a hand.

“With all due respect, sir, why are we trying to stop a toy production line?”

“Because it isn’t one. Don’t you remember? Snow mentioned that they mostly manage production up here. All toys and candy are produced in their native factories. What they produce up here has spent most of it’s time engaged in attempting to kill us. I’d lay a lot of money that these things are bombs, and I’m not about to let one go to my family.” I breathed in, such that I could. This room was better then the forge, but not comfortable at any stretch.

“Look, our job is to do the dirty work. No one ever said we got a cushy life. But we do what has to be done. Right now, we have a duty to a lot of innocent people. That’s a duty we came up here to fulfill, and we can’t back down from it because things get tough. Believe the saying, gentlemen. It’s our job to get tougher. So…” The men tensed up in preparation.

I braced my foot over the conveyor belt.

“Gentleman, on the third pound,” I said, holding up fingers as a count, “Get ready to run like Hell”

* * *

I’ll never remember exactly what that gauntlet was like. It’s a blur of metal, movement, noise, adrenaline. That, of course, and enough aerated chemicals to make the fact that I have continued breathing a small miracle. There was a certain rhythm to the machinery. Even though the floor was moving a great deal faster then you, you could feel what the right movements were. If you paced it right, you positioned yourself here, you moved out of the way of this, you could almost do it with your eyes shut. The factory was humungous, and there was one point at which we had to crawl through a very small tube in sequence because the metal was getting jammed through ahead of us. It worked out like a kind of dance, albeit a very modern one. I had a couple of near misses, and nearly lost an arm when I mistimed a crosswise shaping stamper. But in retrospect, given what we ran through, “a few near misses”, rather then “a few casualties”, was on par with winning the lottery.

It soon became clear that we were on a line for making missiles. True to Kristopher’s usual sick turn of mind, they were shaped like Christmas trees. But the explosives weren’t being loaded here, at least, so it was “safe”.

Until we entered the last hallway. At that point, I would have gladly shared the room with a live missile.

We had just rolled off the assembly line on a pile of completed missiles shuffling through and being locked into place. They looked so completed, I had foolishly let myself get cocky, expecting the exit around the next corner. It was, too, complete with several elves, but what stood between us and it nearly got me killed. I count as one of my greatest blessings the fact that I had a sergeant who was very particular about how people rounded corners, because he saved my life. I didn’t see the blade in the wall until it popped out an inch from my nose and trimmed the top of the missile. And then, all within a second, it ducked back into the wall, and four more sets, this time long racks of angled circular saws particular to the “branches” of the missile, emerged to trim the sides. As those retreated, two more corkscrewed down around the missile to adjust the flight surface and to grind the top inwards slightly so it could receive a warhead. Another would then pop up, in one quick, spiraling movement the other direction, and cut all the access points and drilling the ports where necessary.

One thing that anyone could have determined immediately and definitively was that no one could dodge this. The entire process took not four seconds, then popped the missile out and began again. If we had attempted to run through, we would have become an example of how many cross sections can be made of a human. I ran backwards in place.

It was time for fast thinking. The blades were very sharp, and very finely tuned. But, I thought, narrowing my eyes, that might be their weakness.

As the saw retreated again, I had an idea.

“Balkans, Caber, help me lift out this missile and lay it down on the floor. Locht, Freals, Graile, run interference, and don’t let any more get past. Hurry!”

The missiles weighed surprisingly little, but given that they needed to move fast and accurately, it was at least understandable. We were able to manhandle it fairly easily.

The blade racks were the weak point. All four popped out of the floor at once, and each set of two spun opposite to the others. Since there was no blade at “trunk” level, if you could just brace those saws against each other.

“OK gentleman, when that sideways blade slips back into the wall, push as hard as you can, and slide that thing foreword into those saws.”

Clanks came from behind as the others shoved missiles aside.

Freals called out. “You’d better hurry, Captain. These missiles are turning out pretty quickly. We’re going to be pushed back into those blades if we keep blocking them.”

“Noted, Freals,” I called back, “But we also don’t want to rush this.” I used a sharp hand gesture to direct my team’s attention back to the blade.

I remember almost as if it were slow motion, how the blade popped out of the wall, and the way my arms tensed almost involuntarily. And when the blade slipped back in, like a dropping race flag, how we moved as one unit to shove it forward.

It caught in exactly the right place, as the blades came up, and the servos whined loudly as the wrestled one another.

The blades stopped dead. As it turned out, the system had been inter-related, which only made sense, since it limited defective missiles.

Unfortunately, it also made it pretty clear that we had just stopped the assembly line, and opened the door to a wave of elves who swept in, outsized pistols drawn, to investigate.

But the gauntlet had put us at our finest. The wave of missiles that had piled up behind us only served to let us ride out on a wave of metal, guns blazing and nerves steeled.

The room was a huge missile preparation plant that could have stocked my base’s entire arsenal. It was done in a shining, silver metal and white tiles, so that it looked like a fashionable clean room. High on the wall, the candy canes acted as vanguard to the all-seeing eye, terrifying on a sea of red cloth.

We spread absolute chaos through the room with a few choice gunshots. In the fine compendium of guerilla tactics, The page on direct, small group attacks on the enemy base could have shown a picture of us. We laid waste to every elf that came within bullet range.

The tactics were effective. The elves in here had not been expecting us, and half of them simply ran for the exits at the sound of gunfire.

But my jubilation was short lived. The elves were not the only people to hear those alarms, and as we finished dealing with the last of the elves on the main floor, a voice like thunder rang out through the hall, resonating with my skeleton and making the hairs on my neck stand up.

“Attention, elves.” The speaker said harshly into the microphone. The air was suddenly completely silent, except for that voice, “I have been informed that we have a persistent problem with a group of opposing agents in our base. That is a problem I plan to solve immediately.”

I knew that could only be one man. That was the voice of Kristopher Kringle, AKA, Santa Clause, directly ordering his minions. But where was he?

The voice continued again.

“We suspect they are American, but since they have not come forth the reveal themselves, we will have to assume that it could be any country. This leaves us with the unpleasant task of giving the benefit of the doubt. In the interest of justice, we must send a little reminder of our strength to all the countries of this globe.”

A resounding chorus rose up, high in the rafters. There had to be another group of elves up there. But how could we possibly reach them?

The voice then changed in tone.

“To the eleven saboteurs currently in our production room… I’d like you to know that you are personally responsible for what is about to happen. Whatever we leave of your body will be returned home and have to be buried in utmost secrecy, lest you be dug up and torn apart. Because we are going to make it very clear that you, and you alone, caused us to take this step.”

Then, I felt the horrible attention lift. Hearing the voice gave me a renewed respect for Snow. I could barely resist it, and I knew what the true Kristopher was like. The elves, who had been conditioned to hear it from whatever passed as their birth, would need a will of iron to disobey.

“Open the silos at once.” The voice growled, murderously, “We must make a delivery to the homes of the bad little boys. Initiate Project “Tannenbaum” immediately. Hail Nordland!”

And the speaker clicked off.

Leave a comment

Filed under Uncategorized

Nine Ladies Luring

Chapter 4: Nine Ladies Luring

I’ll admit, I was taken off guard. I know that at that moment, the last thing I planned to do was pull the trigger. The other men were somewhat bewildered as well, for understandable reasons.

My thoughts ran frantically through my head in search of a plausible explanation. So far, every elf that we’ve encountered has tried to kill us. I think it’s safe to operate under the assumption that this one is trying to do so as well. If this is the case, any second now she is going to pull out some very large, highly lethal weapon and kill me.

Inexplicably, this did not will me to pull the trigger. The elf, who did not look as though she had experienced a second of fear in her life, looked at my gun with an amused expression, and placed her index finger on the top of the barrel.

“Is the rifle absolutely necessary?” she purred. “You can see I’m not armed.”

Admittedly, the clothing she was wearing could not have concealed a paperclip, let alone a pistol. Of course, we had learned the hard way that this did not mean a great deal. Beyond which, even a totally unarmed person could be dangerous, with the right training.

With difficulty, my thoughts arranged themselves into a coherent order.

First and foremost, you are a soldier, I thought to myself, and that means being ready for anything, playing it cautious, and keeping to the mission. Your men are going to take their cues from you, so you’d better give them properly. I caught my mental balance, and found the questions for suspected enemy collaborators.

“What is your name, function, and why are you in this part of the compound?” I managed, in the sternest voice possible.

The elf batted her eyelids, trying to push the gun further downwards. I held firm. She continued, unperturbed.

“My name is Snow. I work in the confections department. Evidently, I’m here in case someone needs to greet over-excitable gentleman who happen by with semi-automatic weapons.”

I was very careful not to let my expression change. Let them talk, that was always the strategy. You could tell a lie the same way you could tell cancer… it kept growing unchecked.

But “Snow” didn’t seem too keen to volunteer further information. She merely tilted her head to one side, and drew the candy cane through her lips again in such a way that I could almost hear my men break into a sweat.

“Either sound takes some time to reach you, soldier boy, or you’re incredulous.” She smiled brightly, and then backed away from the door, beckoning, “Come in and see for yourself. I’ll call my sisters, in case you think I’m concealing them.”

Somewhat uncertain of myself, and watching for any sign of a trap being sprung, I stepped through the door. The room was well appointed, with a sweeping staircase, red plush carpeting with mahogany accents, and soft lighting. In the far back, I could see a metal, semi-triangular door shaped much like a Christmas tree, with the same candy cane and eye logo stamped on it as I had seen on the tanks. But it was clearly very tightly sealed, and Snow stepped in front of it before I could see any more.

“Girls!” She called up the stairs, “We have some guests in from the hall,”

From upstairs, there emerged a suspiciously cheerful round of chuckling, whereupon eight more, equally scantily clad elves paraded down the stairs, all of them walking in the sort of way that caused heat stroke to most men at distances up to twenty yards.

Snow turned around, and pointed to her sisters, in a row, as though they were door prizes.

“Meet Peppermint, Sugar, Cinnamon, Spice, Gingerbread, Juniper, Holly, and Cheer,” she said, as her supposed sisters curtseyed their barely existent skirts in a row. Then she turned to me, still smiling, and said, “And as you can see, none of us is pointing a gun at you. Will you please put that thing away?”

I still harbored my suspicions. That routine was too perfectly choreographed for it to be spontaneous, and I couldn’t imagine that they had regular visitors in. On the other hand, this much preparation, even if meant only to slow us down, meant that the next step would probably be infinitely less pleasant. What I needed to do was find out what Snow was hiding. That emblem on the door did not look friendly, and I knew perfectly well from the briefing what Mr. Kringle had actually been doing. But I’d need to dispel this Toyland fantasy at the right time.

I threw the rifle over my back, but rested my hand, seemingly accidentally, on the stock of my holstered pistol. Snow did not seem to notice. I kept my eyes focused on hers as my men slipped their rifles back. They didn’t waver for an instant.

She clapped her hands and grinned. “Lovely. Will you boys be staying for dinner, then?”

*          *          *

I could nearly have bought the eight sisters’ choreography, but a dinner table with eleven additional places open was pure fiction. Snow explained it by saying that elves often had very large families.

Dinner was something referred to as “Roast Beast.” Inquiries into the matter revealed that this was in fact an unhappy creature bioengineered specifically for meat production up at the pole. It had a body mostly composed of useless muscle tissue, and combined the best qualities of a duck, a cow, and a pig. At least supposedly.

I did not eat any, until Snow noticed, and gave me her odd little grin.

“If you’re worried about the meat, it’s harmless. But if you really think it’s poisoned, I’ll gladly try some, for you.”

I didn’t say anything. Instead, I cut a square from the roast personally, because I was no fool, and deposited it on a small plate. I then delicately handed it to her. Without any reservations whatsoever, she popped it in her mouth, chewed quickly, and swallowed it. Still not totally convinced, I finally asked Dorhaise for a general antidote pill to take. Snow took no offense, but I swore that I saw her expression flickered.

But I had not come to the North Pole to exhibit social niceties. I was here to get rid of Kristopher, and keep my men alive. And that was what I was doing.

Over dinner conversation, I found out a number of interesting things. One was that bioengineering and technology were large industries in the North Pole. I also learned that there was a combined population of elves well in excess of 3 million, according to Snow, and that confection and toy manufacturing was primarily managed in the North Pole, but that actual production occurred in any number of major companies for which Mr. Kringle had a voting majority via various outlets. As for his relationship with world governments, they were suddenly very unhelpful.

In fact, the most interesting things were what they didn’t say. They regarded Kristopher with a mixture of reverence and fear bordering on being a god. The slightest criticism of him was brushed away as lightly as possible, as though their lives depended on it. They would certainly not entertain the suggestion that he had used his dominant world position to extort governments, or that his annual run was a ritual reminder to the world, every year, that he could send whatever he wanted into the population’s homes, and that the governments could not do a thing about it.

“I’m interested to know why we were attacked so forcefully,” I said, holding a wine glass tactfully between my fingers as I put it down.

Snow looked up, and laughed a perfectly coordinated little giggle, covering her mouth as she swallowed. “Naturally, Sugarplum. If you’re here, you went through an armed compound. What would your reaction be if we blew a hole in the wall of one of your bases at home? I suppose you’d be perfectly serene about it?”

Her sisters laughed the same perfectly arranged laughs. I didn’t move my facial muscles.

“I lost one of my men in that battle.” I said, not moving my hand from the glass.

Snow did not seem concerned in the least.

“So? Grow him again when you get home,” she said, dismissively.

I narrowed my eyes slightly, trying to parse the sentence. She seemed to be surprised at my response, catch herself, and retreat.

“I’m sorry for your loss. But you clearly attacked our base.” She said, more soberly.

I nodded, and lifted the wine glass again. I considered my next sentence carefully.

“Well, after all,” I said, “we do what we are instructed to.”

I held her gaze. This time, I was certain I saw something flicker in her eyes. But she didn’t show it. There was barely a tremor in her voice when she replied quietly,

“Don’t we all, SugarPlum.”

*          *          *

Snow and company showed us to private quarters. Once more, a coincidental eleven prepared. I could see a twelfth room, clearly, but it had been blocked off. In the privacy of my mind, I referred to it as “Pearson’s Room”, because I was certain that was exactly who it had been meant for.

Snow showed me around the room while I worked through a new gambit in my head. I was a married man, although I didn’t wear a ring because it didn’t pay to advertise your family to enemies. It had been a while since I dated, and this tactic was going to need some planning. As Snow was pointing out the bed warmer, I judiciously closed the door, and cleared my throat.

Snow turned around, looked at me, and for the first time, did not instantly grin.

“Yes, Sugarplum?”

I closed my eyes, and then started in a quiet voice.

“Snow, I’m sorry if I’ve seemed brisk, or rude, with you. Believe me, in other circumstances, I would not have to be so cautious.”

She smiled.

“That’s alright, Sugarplum. But I’m here to show you that we aren’t doing anything nefarious up here. We’re just defending ourselves.”

I nodded, and then turned my back to the door. I paused for a second, and then cut in as she started to continue her tour.

“I believe that you aren’t doing anything nefarious up here, Snow,” And I turned to face her again, meeting her huge green eyes with my stare, “I don’t think, given a choice, you’d harm me any more than I’d shoot you. I know a femme fatale on sight, and your sisters might qualify, but you don’t.”

She seemed shocked. Her eyes were wide, and her mouth dropped open a little. But I had come too far to stop now. I advanced towards her, holding her gaze, and half- knelt in front of her, so that my head was almost even with hers.

“I believe that, if you were being forced to do something, or if you knew more about Kristopher then you’re letting on, or if you knew we were in danger, you’d tell me. Right now, in fact, while no one could hear you.”

The words hung in mid-air. I waited for the after-effect.

I got it. A tiny hand swung around in a short arc and backhanded me.

Snow bit her lip, and seemed to return from the verge of tears. She breathed out again, and seemed to control herself.

“Listen, Soldier boy. Your theories are up a pole, and you won’t win bonus points with me by insulting my sisters, or Santa. You spend a lot of time messing about with things you know nothing…I mean, for goodness…” then, grasping for words, she rose herself up to her full height, and took two steps towards me, sticking a finger under my nose, “Don’t mistake our hospitality, Soldier boy, for weakness. If you have any sense, you’ll go to sleep, stop making trouble, and go back home with your men tomorrow. Good Night!”

And with that, she stepped around me, opened the door, and slammed it behind her, leaving me to wonder if I had made a large mistake.

*          *          *

I didn’t sleep, however, because I was planning an escape. I got into bed, fully clothed in case I was being watched, and my weapons nearby. After lights went out, I counted off twenty minuites from the last noise I heard. Just as I was about to go collect the boys, a noise in the hallway startled me.

But it was a very soft noise, indeed, as though the girls’ bedroom door had been stealthily opened. I closed my eyes and pretended to sleep.  Soon enough, the door to my room opened, and two tiny feet padded across my carpet. Then, in front of me, I felt a small, warm shape move under the covers. A foot like an ice-cube brushed me on the leg, and then a hand touched my shoulder.

I swept a hand up, trying to protect my neck, and found myself holding Snow instead.

She was unarmed. I loosened my grip, and she adjusted herself in the bed.

After a while, she spoke. “I wish you hadn’t taken an antidote too, Soldier boy. You made it very complicated. He told us that you could just regenerate, like us. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. You’d die for real.”

I nodded, silently. So they HAD been trying to poison us.

“Believe me, I didn’t know. I was just doing what I was told to, and…”

I hushed her.

“Snow, you didn’t come down here just to confess. What are your sisters going to do?”

She looked at the door, then leaned close, and whispered in my ear.

“They plan to shoot you all while you’re sleeping, in ten minutes, give or take.”

I grimaced in the darkness.

“Then there isn’t a minute to lose. Snow, is there a way out of here?”

She shook her head. “I’m sorry, Sugar Plum, but no. The only door out is heavily guarded, and locked magnetically…” she paused, seemed to remember something.

“But there is a vent shaft that’s fairly accessible. I suspect that it goes somewhere nasty, though, or it would be better guarded.”

I swung my legs out of the bed.

“It’ll have to do, wherever it goes. Snow? Rally my men, and gather them downstairs. We need to check out.”

*          *          *

Snow proved herself to me, in those next minutes. With no more noise then a rambunctious nitrogen molecule, she roused and rallied my men into a fully armed cadre in the downstairs living room, and still found time to unscrew the wall panel.

It was just about large enough to squeeze through, but she was right, it was impossible to tell where it went. There was a six foot drop, followed by heaven knows what.

With the assistance of Snow, I helped to ease each of my men down into the chute. But as I was preparing to go down after them, Snow stopped me.

“Soldier boy? I hate to tell you this, but you’re going to have to shoot me.”

My heart stood still. I shook my head, and tried to adjust my ears.

“Snow? Did you just say that?”

She was holding back tears.

“I did, Sugarplum. Look, you’re dealing with the most advanced bio-chemical complex on earth. They’ll pop into my occipital nerve and check, and you have no idea what they do to traitors. Even if I committed suicide, they’d know, and they’d bring me back specifically to torture me. But if they see you with a pistol…” She paused, and then started again, more quietly “…No questions asked. They’ll bring me back to life, and I’ll have gained first hand experience with the enemy.. We both need an airtight story, Soldier boy. They’re going to know exactly what the last thing I saw was.”

And then she bit her lip. And this time, when she spoke it was very quiet indeed.

“But they won’t know the last thing I felt,” she said, “Your file says you’re married, so tell your wife to forgive me.”

And then she kissed me. I was completely lost, for a moment. Her lips tasted of peppermint and sugar, and it seemed to last for hours. At last, she let go, and stepped back, ten paces.

“Alright, Sugarplum… I’m ready.” She said, holding her hands at her sides.

*          *          *

I jumped down into the tunnel, after my men.

Hafton caught me and helped me up.

“About time, sir. What was that shot?”

I looked at him, tried to clear my mind, and made the answer sound light.

“Just finishing up the escape plan. Any idea where we are?”

“No, sir,” Hafton said, kneeling down and shining a light down the duct, “But there’s really only one way to go before that elf’s friends come after us.”

We took approximately ten steps, voluntarily.

After that, the air systems turned on, and swept us right into the mouth of Hell.

Leave a comment

Filed under Uncategorized

Chapter 3: Ten Hordes Attacking

Chapter 1 – Twelve Gunners Gunning
Chapter 2 – Eleven Snipers Sniping

Chapter 3: Ten Hordes Attacking

The men were a credit to soldierly. They arrived right as the horde began hitting the compound. All of them, that is, except for the team from tower 2.

I turned to Hafton, who was one of the members of the tower 1 team.

“What did you see in Tower 2? We need Thyger, right now. And where’s Locht?”

“No sign of anyone, sir.”

Suddenly, the entire side of the tower shook. Elves, seemingly oblivious to the freezing winds, were dismounting from armored personnel carriers shaped like toy trains. Or rather, would have looked like toy trains, if not for the steel armor shaped like skulls wearing stocking caps, and the motif emblazoned on the fronts of two crossed candy canes over the sort of eye I had last seen floating above the pyramid on a one-dollar bill. The tower was dancing a jig under the barrage of an increasing number of nutcracker mortars. I saw an elf pull smartly down on the back handle, the figure’s teeth open, and a shell launch into the air.

The glass shattered with the impact, letting in the freezing wind and emphasizing the sounds of the mortars and tanks. Peeking above the ledge, I sighted the sniper rifle on an elf planting a nutcracker, and dispatched him with a shot to the forehead.

“Season’s greetings,” I growled under my breath. I ducked back, and switched on my radio.

“Thyger, respond. Fall back to tower 4, copy?”

Dead crackling came over the radio. I braced as the tower took another hit, and then tried again.

“Thgyer, this is Captain Mesner. Fall back to tower 4, do you copy?”

Still nothing. I stood up, quickly, and grasped the sniper rifle again. Most of the elves were wearing green suits, but one of them in a dark red uniform with gold epaulets just begged to be tagged. I lined up the shot with my breath pattern, and was about to squeeze, when an even larger force rocked the tower from below as a gumdrop tank fired its cannon. A shot buzzed past my ear as I fell backwards.

Someone was sniping me. They learned quickly. Mr. Kringle had been doing more up here then making toys and manipulating world finances.

I gripped my radio to try one final call to Thyger, when a weak voice came through.

“Captain? This is Thyger, reporting in, sir.”

I pulled the radio around to shield it from noise.

“Thyger, what’s your twenty? Can you make it to the tower?”

“Negative, sir. And I need Graile down here, fast. We’ve got an elevator, and it goes well below this tunnel, but it’s got some sort of internal auto-turrets guarding it. Small caliber, but it did a number on Dorhaise’s armor. This set seems to be motion-activated, so I can’t just flash-bang them. They need to be hacked.”

I unstrapped my pistol, stood up, sighted a target and squeezed off two shots. The wind was too strong for me to correct as accurately as I had with the sniper rifle, though, and I only managed to graze a private before I got back to the radio.

“Is Locht with you, Thyger?” I said, checking the clip.

“No sir, I’m sorry.”

I swore under my breath. Locht was still downstairs, then. Incidentally, with Pearson’s body, and unless we hurried, soon to be as dead. We didn’t know where to look, but we had to look fast.

What we needed, right now, was a way to get to that base, and someplace we could send Pearson’s body where it wouldn’t be found by those short little demons. It wasn’t pleasant, but there it was. No man left behind. Not even a dead one. What we had was a quickly disappearing vantage point, a well guarded elevator two wings away, and enough munitions to level New Hampshire immediately downstairs.

The last was Thyger’s department. But first, we’d need an escape plan, which meant we’d need the elevator anyway. But how to deal with Pearson?

And then, as the tower swayed dangerously under a cannon shot from below, I had a jolt of inspiration.

I waved my hand in the air.

“Attention!” I shouted above the noise. All the men pulled in their rifles, ducked below the ledge, and turned to face me while kneeling. “Teams 1 and 2, we’re going to retreat to tower 2, double time. Graile, prep your tool kit on the way. We’ll need every spare second. Teams 3 and 4, go downstairs for Locht and Pearson. And be prepared to meet us near the base of tower 2 in the munitions dump when I call.”

* * *

We burst into the antechamber of tower 4 to find Thyger crouching over the wounded medic and applying a field bandage. He ripped off a salute as I stepped in.

“The control box is here, sir,” he said, gesturing at a silver box on the wall.

Graile took out his handheld computer and plugged into the control box. I went to Thyger, and whispered to him.

“Thyger, this place is a munitions dump. We’re sitting right on top of a great number of explosives, and I heavily suspect that that’s why they’re restricting the shelling to the wings. Got any idea how we can use a nearly unlimited number of explosives?”

Thyger’s brow furrowed seriously. After a moment he said.

“That depends. Gunpowder, liquid, or plastique? And how much of it?”

“All three, plus a century of ammunition. All about equally proportioned.”

He thought again. Finally he decided. “I’ll rig the plastique, then. It needs electronic charges, otherwise it’ll just make a cheerful fire. The other two will go up like fury with a flame, though.”

There was a click, as Graile finished with the box. Two thumps emanated from the other room as the turrets dropped dead.

“Finished, sir. They did everything but remove the control box to guard those things, but with the speed they built this place, they probably needed it to manage all the electronics. This one seems to interface with a larger network, though, so it was tough.”

I turned to the others. “Alright, gentleman, into the elevator. Next floor, bombs, explosives, and munitions. Going down.”

* * *

The men I sent to the ammo dump were waiting by the elevator with Freals when we arrived, as I had expected. What I hadn’t expected was the huge pile of bombs waiting with them.

Freals’ radio had gone dead, but he had heard the sound of the shelling because it was impossible not to in this echo chamber. Rather then abandon his post, however, Freals had gone through the crates around him and grabbed extra insurance while waiting for backup, since he knew from our earlier trip what was in them. He had a beautiful pile of C-4 bombs one wire from completion.

It wouldn’t be enough to eliminate the entire army outside, or detonate the munitions dump. But given the hasty construction of the building annex, it was more then enough to get us a tank… if we played our cards right.

“Thyger, finish rigging this building. Four men, come with me, and get Pearson ready.” I grabbed an armful of C-4 and cautiously opened the door, “We’re going to fetch him a ride.”

I stepped out into the blinding snow, and ran towards the far wall, where the elves were still pounding on tower 4. I opened the door as silently as possible, and urged the others in. If this was going to go off right, we’d have to get to the far end of the tower. Two hallways connected towards the front. I turned the corner and opened the door.

And I hated what I saw. We had never looked at the compound from this angle, so we hadn’t seen the wall of ceiling to floor windows all along the base. But, the structural supports on this portion of the building were out in the open, just like I needed. If only…

“Right, here’s the plan. Plug the wires in and start the timers now. When they have twenty seconds left, we’re going to make a break for it, down the hallway. Leave the bombs by the columns, and run for the far door. They’re fixating on the top, so they won’t see us for a moment. But we can’t risk them breaking through and diffusing these. Everyone ready?”

They nodded.

“Alright then. Gentlemen, start your timers.”

* * *

The entire run seemed like it was in slow motion. The elves only caught sight of us as we were mere yards from the end, with one column and five seconds left. The hallway was riddled with holes behind us, but we were already diving through the door.

What happened next sounded like the end of the world. The whole row of support columns on this side of the building was blown away, and similar to a tree with a slanted cut, promptly fell on that portion of the elf army not fast enough to get out of the way.

“Run back, and tell Thyger to hurry up. They won’t be stunned forever. This is only the first wave.”

Then I ran back through the door. There were stone blocks everywhere, intermingled with elves and their equipment. But there, not fifteen yards out, was what I had really been looking for. A somewhat dented gumdrop tank, with the hatch thrown open and vacated by a driver apparently unhappy to see that our performance had brought down the house. I clambered in, hastily, and maneuvered it over the wreckage amidst the confusion.

“Attention. I’m driving a tank into the courtyard now. Bring out Pearson,” I said to my radio.

Locht’s voice returned, “Acknowledged, Captain.” So they had gotten back. Good.

Through the side machine gun flap, I saw them bring Pearson. I opened the hatch, and helped hoist him down. Then I turned the tank around to face the hole in the wall we’d come in through, and slumped him so that both levers were on. The tank began to move forward.

“So long, Pearson. We’ll send an air drop around to pick you up, and fly you back… while we make certain there won’t be any red-suited psychos climbing down the chimney of your crematorium.” And with that, I climbed out, and jumped down off the tank as it continued at a merry click off between the minefields and through the hole we had made coming in.

I pulled out the radio, called in Pearson’s trip and an approximate location for him, and ran back to the depot.

Thyger greeted me as I returned.

“Charges are ready, Captain.” He said. Then, glancing into the distance, he added hurriedly, “I think we better go.”

I looked back, to see nine distinct waves of red and green advancing hungrily on the compound at speed. Evidently, someone had gotten word of the building trick.

As fast as we could, we ran into the compound, into the elevator, and pressed the basement button. The elevator descended so quickly, it seemed as though our feet might leave the floor. After a suitable pause, Thyger pushed the jury-rigged detonator that he had made with Graile’s help.

There was a sound best described as “THWUM”, followed by a concussion which nearly shook the elevator off its cable, even at this depth.

Then, silence.

 

I was nervous about entering the compound, but if the elevator had been guarded that heavily, then they certainly didn’t expect us to come down it. We had the element of surprise, and even the optimistic possibility that they would think errant shelling had caused the explosion and that we were now dead.

It was nearly disappointing to have the door open on a grey cement hallway with the obligatory florescent lights and a metal door at the end. But the hairs on the back of my neck stood on end. Something about this scene had “Ambush,” written all over it.

“Advance with caution”, I warned in a whisper.

I steeled myself, and approached the door. I grasped the brass handle with one hand, and signaled that I would count to three with the other. Then I prepped my rifle.

I was going to be ready for whatever was behind that door.

One. Two. Three.

I was not ready. There was no way on Earth I could have been. What was behind the door was, in fact, a graceful blonde elf in approximately a square foot of fur lined clothing.

“Well, Hello, big boy.” She said, pulling a candy cane from between her lips and winking one giant green eye, “Are you from the naughty list?”

Leave a comment

Filed under Uncategorized

Christmas Campaign – Chapter Two

Chapter 2: Eleven Snipers Sniping

The whole world stood still, for a moment. I heard my own voice shout “Get to cover!”, and then the whole courtyard exploded in a sequence of shots. We ran for the far alcove, dragging Pearson, and huddled under it while the last echoes of the shots dies away in the wind.

Freals coughed, sat up, and looked at me. “By my count, sir, we’ve got two snipers… at least… in every one of those towers.”

I nodded. “I think that you’re correct, Mr. Freals,” I said, “If we’re going to move through this building, we’re going to need to flush them out. Likely as not, they’ll be waiting where we least expect to see them.”

I looked around. There was a metal door behind us with a heavy lock, and another set of doors on either wing of the building facing the courtyard.

“Thyger, we need that lock gone. Got a charge small enough?”

He smiled. “I do indeed, sir. One lockpick, coming up.”

I turned to face the other men. “Alright, gentlemen, here’s the plan. I’m going to toss out my flash-bang on a short fuse. They’ve probably seen one before, but the fact that they kept firing once we had already ducked out of the way tells me that they’re inexperienced as snipers. With any luck, they’ll look at that thing right through the sight and half-blind themselves. Four men each, scatter to those doors. Then, two apiece, take the towers. That silent alarm means that we need to finish this operation quickly, so you won’t have an advantage in numbers. Play it cautious instead, and throw a regular grenade in if you have to.” There was a soft thump behind me, and a creak. The door swung open, revealing a cavernous abyss of blackness beyond.

“Locht, Graile, you’re with me. We’re going to see if we can find an alternate route through the building. Call on the radio once you’ve got your tower cleared. The one on the left bottom side of the U shape is 1, the one on the right is 4. I’ll call back and tell you if we scout out a route. Everyone got it?”

They nodded.

“OK, gentlemen, then get ready.”

I reached behind me, undid the Velcro on the flash-bang holster, pulled the pin, and hefted it.

Thousand-one.

Thousand-two.

Thousand- THROW.

*          *          *

The whole area became awash in frantic shots the moment the flash-bang went

off, but none of them even came close. Everyone made it to the doors in time. I carefully propped up Pearson,  and signaled for the other two to follow me. As I stepped through the door, I turned the volume down on my radio. If there was anyone hiding out in here, the last thing I needed to do was an open broadcast of our position.

The room was dark, much larger then it originally seemed, and very drafty.

No use using night vision goggles in here. Not enough ambient light for that. The flashlights were a chance, but we didn’t have much choice.

The room smelled funny. One of the things that you learn early on, if you plan to continue surviving, is to learn how to follow your nose literally, which was currently telling me that something was wrong.

Graile noticed too.

“Frankly, sir, that smell is familiar.” He whispered, pointing the flashlight at one of the crates lining the path.

“Hold on a moment.” I walked over to a lone crate on the ground and brought my rifle stock against it, in order to dislodge the lid. It came off without too much trouble.

It was what was inside that caused me trouble.

The whole crate was filled with explosives. C4 blocks neatly attached to timers, binary liquid bombs, and all manner of bullets, eclectically but squarely compartmentalized. If the whole warehouse was holding this stuff, then it could have removed the entire pole when detonated.

“Well, one thing’s for certain, if things get rough down here, we won’t run out of ammo. Let’s keep moving. And be careful not to jostle these things, or they’ll find our remains in San Franc…” The radio cut me off.

“Captain Mesner, come in.”

I adjusted the microphone. “Read you loud and clear, over”.

“Captain, tower 3 secured. The snipers have been turned off.” The phrase caught me oddly. It didn’t sound quite right.

“What do you mean by “Turned off” precisely?”

“It’s seems to be an automated system, sir.” The radio buzzed, “I think you’d better see this yourself, sir. I think they expected us, and we’ve got some movement outside the compound. But, sir, I don’t recommend coming up via the courtyard. There’s one on each of the walls.”

“Acknowledged. We’ll try to get up another way.”

I switched out. This place looked like it was supplying the base, which meant that it was a reasonable guess that the ammo dump had quick access to the towers, somewhere. It was awfully strange for a place so dedicated to munitions storage to have observation towers and seemingly useless wings. It was almost as though the ammo dump had had everything else appended on around it, after it was constructed. I moved us down a left turn, towards tower through.

Sure enough, there in the flashlights, was a cargo elevator. I considered informing the other units that we had found a route, but since they hadn’t reported in yet, I didn’t want to interrupt them. Besides, it was never a good idea to say more on the radio then necessary, since you never knew who was listening in.

I turned to the other two. “Locht, stay here. If the situation changes, call me, otherwise, leave off the radio. Graile, come with me. That movement outside might be your silent alarm.”

And the two of us stepped into the waiting elevator.

*          *          *

By the time I got to the top, towers 1 and 4 had called in, and I had sent 1 to support 2, which wasn’t responding. When the doors opened, it became clear that we were seeing the fruits of the silent alarm.

Tower 3 was a wreck. There was a bunch of electronic equipment on every surface, and two auto turrets of some kind hastily installed in both windows.

They had definitely seen us coming. It made sense. This was the only place we could find with recon because it was the only place they’d let us see. They’d probably had a munitions dump here for some time, and with some basic security, it could pass for a real compound. Since they couldn’t be sure when they’d be attacked, they’d simply alarmed it, and waited to trap whoever got lured in.

We had walked right into it.

Advancing over the landscape in a wave was a set of green and red tanks, each with a cannon made to look like a candy cane stick through a gumdrop. I wasn’t sure whether to be sickened, or angry. I gauged their ETA as being maybe a minute.

On the other hand, that meant that a base WAS nearby, and that there was a high chance the munitions dump was also connected to it, albeit underground. Of course, it would be flooded with troops.

I pulled out my radio.

“Attention, all towers. Abort prior mission immediately, make your way to tower 4, double-time.” I turned the auto-gun turret, and ripped off the motor. It was a relatively weak motor, which explained why it had missed; of course, it only had to slow us down. But there was a fairly high quality sniper rifle beneath all the glittery green electronics. I sighted it out the window, and held up my radio to my mouth.

“ And keep cool, gentlemen, because it looks like it’s about to get very hot where we are.”

Leave a comment

Filed under Uncategorized

New Titles, New Observations and One or Two Frustrations

First of all, apologies for the delay between posts.  Real life kicked several of us in the teeth this past week and we’re just now digging out.  However, beginning this week, there will be at least four posts every week — God willing and the creek don’t rise.

Since my last post, we’ve published two more short stories and the Halloween collection.  The first short story is Hell of a Job by Kate Paulk.  It should appear on Amazon, B&N and other “store” sites in the next few days.  Here’s a short excerpt:

Elizabeth Antonia Harrisfield snuggled into the cushions on the obsidian throne and sighed. Being a Dark Lord, Supreme Ruler of the Southwestern Corner of the Mappe and loyal minion of the Dread Lord of Hell Himself wasn’t all it was cracked up to be.

There was the throne, for a start. Carved from a single block of flawless obsidian, massive and foreboding, emphasising the Dark Lord’s power to all who saw it, it was also hellishly uncomfortable and froze the Dark Lord’s backside. Which helped to explain the previous incumbent’s fondness for incinerating his underlings.

That latter was also partially explained by the Dread Lord’s habit of watching the Dark Lords and occasionally popping in to offer advice. Her predecessor’s predecessor had resigned after one such visit. It wasn’t that unlike board meetings back home, except that forced resignations usually didn’t involve the luckless victim devolving into a screaming lump. Elizabeth hadn’t been graced with any such visits yet, but once she’d learned they happened she’d set about finding out what they involved.

It seemed that being a Dark Lord and Loyal Minion was a high risk, high turnover position. . . .

In the next short story, Zebbie by Sarah A. Hoyt, a young cat’s antics leads his family into a dangerous world where reality and fable merge.  Here’s an excerpt:

. . .Zebbie froze by my side, his paw raised like a pointer dog in an English hunting print. I looked down, surprised at this unnatural pose, then froze in my turn. My heart hammered somewhere between my mouth and my ears. Above and in front of Zebbie’s paw, floated something that looked like a giant, shimmering soap bubble. Only it wasn’t a bubble, just a shimmering of the air and a faint suggestion of rainbow color. Inside this, suspended, flew… I can only describe it as a human, if a human were about a palm long, with a golden exoskeleton and dragon-fly wings.

I don’t remember screaming. I didn’t even throw the flowers over my head, nor let go of the sharp knife. Funny how, when the impossible happens, one acts in a perfectly reasonable way. Instead, I turned my back. “Come on, Zebbie,” I said, and started walking towards the back door. Then looked back to see if he followed.

Zebbie darted me a reluctant look, then made a half-movement, as though to pounce on the thing.

“No,” I told him. “Don’t you touch that.” Just as rational as you please, as though restraining Zebbie from playing with a squirrel or a mouse.

I made it all the way to the phone, dialed Glen’s office phone and found myself telling him, “I just saw a fairy in the garden.” . . . .

Both of these stories are available for individual purchase or as part of the collection of stories we did for Halloween.  The collection, Night Whispers, is available here.  As with the stories, it will also be available through Amazon and other outlets within the next few days.   The collection includes Jack by Dave Freer, Till Your Proud Heart Break by Sarah A. Hoyt, Gooble, Gobble, One of Us by Charles Edgar Quinn, Predator or Prey by Ellie Ferguson, Bite One, Get One Free by Robert A. Hoyt as well as Hell of a Job by Kate Paulk and Zebbie by Sarah A. Hoyt.

As far as observations go, I’m not a big TV watcher.  When I do watch, it’s usually something on the History Channel, BBCA, one of the Discover Channels or an old movie.  But the other day I decided to take a look at AMC’s new series, The Walking Dead.  I’ll admit right now that I’ve never seen the graphic novel it’s based on.  Nor am I that big of a fan of zombie movies.  My opinion has been that zombie movies have gone the way of slasher flicks — after the first couple of really good ones, they’ve become nothing but parodies of themselves.  But The Walking Dead changed my mind — at least so far.

Don’t get me wrong.  There isn’t a lot of new material here.  The sheriff waking up alone in the hospital after being in a coma reminded me a lot of Howard Keel awakening in the hospital and ripping the bandages off his eyes in Day of the Triffids.  (Oh no, now I’m going to have the opening theme of Rocky Horror Picture Show playing in my head — “And I really got hot when I saw Janette Scott fight a Triffid that spits poison and kills”.  Okay, it’s been one of those days.  What else can I say?)

Okay, back to business here.  Before getting hijacked by RHPS, I was going to say that I found myself enjoying the pilot of The Walking Dead more than I’d expected.  I haven’t had a chance to see the second episode yet, but it’s on the dvr waiting for me.  Maybe tonight.

I also want to let you know that we are having a few issues with our store right now.  It’s nothing major — unless you happen to be one of our IT guys and they are pulling their hair out right now.  For some reason, on the pages where our new short stories and novels are listed, some of the images have decided to appear one moment and then disappear the next.  We aren’t having that problem on the individual product pages, nor does it impact your ability to purchase and download the items.  It’s just frustrating and I’ve got a tech or two threatening to commit violence if they can’t find the problem and fix it soon.

Finally, tomorrow we’ll be publishing Darwin Garrison’s first anime/manga review.  His column will appear twice a month.  Beginning December, it will be the first and third Wednesday of the month.  So be sure to stop by and take a look tomorrow.

Until tomorrow, I’m going to go see if I can’t calm the techies and keep them from throwing a computer across the room.  They never clean up the mess when they do ;-p

Leave a comment

Filed under Uncategorized

I’m Late, I’m Late. . .

Or I’m very early.  Either way, I think I’ll combine today’s and tomorrow post.  To get things started, Robert A. Hoyt’s short story Bite One, Get One Free is today’s — Friday’s — new story. In it, he proves that vampires can come in many shapes and sizes — some more surprising than others.  Worse, they have, in a manner of speaking, invaded our grocery stores, making the weekly shopping trip more of a nightmare than ever before.

Tomorrow — Saturday — our new story will be Till Your Proud Heart Break by Sarah A. Hoyt.  Just go to our home page and it will be available by 8 am cst (unless a disaster strikes and there is suddenly no coffee).  In Proud Heart, Sarah shows that it is never a good thing to try to come between two magicians who are deeply in love.  However, being Halloween, there’s a twist — isn’t there always?  Check it out, especially if you like your stories to be about magic and be a little magical all at the same time.

Sunday we’re celebrating Halloween in style with Born in Blood…The Legend Begins by Kate Paulk.  This is the prequel to her novel Impaler.  In both, Kate takes a unique approach to the Dracula legend.  I can promise you one thing, there will be absolutely NO sparkly vampires.

Monday at 12:01 am est we open for submissions.  We’re looking for well-written, entertaining short stories, novellas and novels in all genres except erotica.  You can check out our guidelines here.

Monday will also see the next installment of the e-arc of Lawyers of Mars by Pam Uphoff.

Finally, I’m excited to announce that Darwin Garrison will be contributing reviews and op-ed pieces on manga and anime.  We’ll let you know next week exactly when to expect his columns as well as our book review columns by John Wagner.

So, until Sunday, I’m off to prepare for all the hobgoblins and witches and monsters that prowl the streets on Halloween.

Leave a comment

Filed under Uncategorized