The Tsunami

by Marshall Miller

  “That it does, Doc, that it does.”

  “Follow me.” It was a command, not an invitation. Torbin followed, his mouth beginning to water at the familiar smells.

  “How do you like your steak and eggs, Skipper?”

  “Right now, thick and lots of ‘em.”

  The chortle again. “Thought so. Joe, don’t just stand there! Get this young warrior some shit on a shingle, along with some biscuits, coffee, and o.j.. I’ll make the steak and eggs. You look like a sunny side up person this morning.”

  “Pegged it just right, Doc.”

  Chortle again. “Pull up a chair. You’re my guest. We don’t open for another hour.”

  Within ten minutes he was stuffing his face with some of the best s.o.s. and fresh biscuits he had eaten in ages. The coffee was hot and strong, the o.j. tasted fresh squeezed. Doc brought out a huge rare steak and three sunny side up eggs, with hash browns, hot sauce, and ketchup. He pulled up a chair, a huge mug of coffee in his paw, a stubby unlit stogie in his mouth.

  “The Prophet lets me serve regular coffee—caffeine and all—here, and lets me smoke my stogies outside. Said God told him that people like me have a part in the plan, so dietary restrictions don’t apply as much anymore. Gettin’ rid of the Squids and the heathens are what’s important.”

  He took a slurp of coffee. “I suppose my being a former Marine like him helps.”

  Torbin swallowed a chewed piece of most tender steak he had eaten in years. “Doc, let me tell you that this is one of the best meals I have had in ages.You definitely did not learn this in the Corps. Hell, they treated an MRE like a three course meal.”

  Doc gave his snarling grin again. “Worked in my family’s diner for years before I joined the Corps. I was smart enough not to let on that I was a good cook. I wanted to fight, not make shit on the shingle for the rest of my career.”

  Doc chewed on his unlit stogie a couple of times, then removed it from his mouth. “Spent a couple of tours in the Sandbox, did an Afghan tour, helped out during the Korean mess. No matter where I went, I always made damn sure my Marines were well fed. And yes, using MREs and a few cans of fruit, I can make a four course meal. They said I was like a doctor with food. That’s how I got the name Doc.”

  Torbin laughed, stuck a last forkful of food in his mouth, and then set his fork down. “Well, Doc, I think you’ve earned your advanced degree this morning. I am stuffed.”

  Doc gave him an appraising eye. “I think you’ll be able to work that off, Skipper. You don’t sit around a lot, do you?”

  “No Doc, I don’t. Your coffee is great, by the way. But out of curiosity, how in the hell did you even get to Deseret?”

  Doc snorted. “I was finishing up a tour as the NCOIC in charge of a training unit in Twentynine Palms. I had already done a stint or two as a DI, the brass liked the way I got young troops trained. None of my trainees every got killed by doing something stupid. I had twenty-five years in the Corps, but decided my fifteen year old son and thirteen year old daughter needed me home more, so I put in my retirement papers. I was on thirty days terminal leave when the Squids showed up.”

  Doc growled. “I got my family rounded up after a rock hit the base and fucked it up right proper. I had a couple of friends in Utah, so I figured I’d get my family as far from the coast as possible, especially once we found out the Squids were infesting all the major ports. I checked the base first. Bunch of those damned lizards were already down. They like the desert areas, reminds them of their home. Along with a couple of harvester arks, they started grabbing everyone that moved. I decided that retreat was the better part of valor as I had my family in tow. So, off to Utah.”

  His expression turned darker as he continued. “The next year was a bitch. I had to kill some folks when they tried to take what was mine, and got shot up myself. My wife and kids were nursing me back to health at an old hotel that a couple of families and I had taken over during the long winter. Prophet Smith showed up at the end of the first year.”

  Doc chewed on his stogie for a moment. “He stepped right in, started organizing everyone in the state. He told everyone he had received a message from God that he was to take charge of things, save the state of Utah—which he called Deseret—and the Mormon people. When I told him my wife and I were Catholic, he smiled and said he would not hold that against me, that we were all God’s children. He seemed to be able to put everyone at ease, and get them to cooperate. The fact that Mormons already had food stored in preparation for hard times helped a lot during the first couple of years. But, if it weren’t for President and Prophet Smith, I think people would have been broken up into a whole bunch of splinter groups, fussin’ and fightin’. He has a knack of getting people to work together, to follow his lead. I believe that’s why the surviving Church Elders, the Apostles, recognized him as the Prophet. Last year, he was elected President of Deseret in a landslide. The Election was his idea. He could have run the state with just his position of Prophet, since the Mormon church took over just about everything. But, he said we needed a secular government, even though it may seem to rubber stamp what the Church says.”

  Torbin reflected on the fact that strong men always seemed to appear when things went to crap, whether they helped or hurt the situation. People in crisis gravitate to strong figures, to tell them how to fix things, and to take the heat for problems. So far, the Prophet and President Smith seemed to be helping the situation more than hurting.

  “So, Doc, we heard rumors up north that there was some forced religious conversions of the type of convert or leave. What’s your take?”

  Doc shrugged. “He never tried to force me to do anything along those lines. Though, of course, the Catholic church in Rome has ceased to exist, the Squids taking it out.”

  Doc paused and shook his head. “The Pope must have had balls of steel. Before all media broke down, they broadcast a film of the Holy Father marching right up to a robocop near a harvester ark, with just his bible in his hands. It looked like he tried to order them to cease and desist in the name of the Lord and the holy Catholic church. One second he was there, the next second a tentacle from the spaceship zipped out and he was gone, just like that. A blur, then he was gone, never seen again.”

  Doc shook his head. “I think God and Jesus have both said, ‘Hey guys, you’re on your own until you get your shit together.’ So far, only the Mormons seemed to be getting their shit together. Other than the Church of Kraken, only the Mormon church seems to be in business, saving souls. Haven’t heard so much as a peep out of anyone else.”

  “But, you haven’t converted yet?”

  “No Skipper. Been Catholic too long to start believing in a whole new bible. But my children have. My son is in the Deseret Armed Forces, my daughter is training to be a doctor. So, me being a non-believer hasn’t hurt anything.”

  “How many non-believers still exist in Deseret, Doc?”

  “About a thousand. We can leave anytime, no cult-like behavior in preventing it. Everyone has a job, a purpose, good neighbors, and no one is getting harvested. People of color are few and far between, but after the first month or so, the Squids moved on to happier hunting grounds and haven’t returned.”

  Doc’s assistant Joe appeared and freshened up Torbin’s coffee. Two other men in white showed up, stared at Torbin, and then hustled to the back of the kitchen area.

  “Well, Skipper, it’s getting close to opening time. We should be hearing PT formations running by anytime. They’ll be headed here soon.” Doc stood up, stuck out his large paw again. “Stop by anytime. I’ll make sure my people get you something to eat, no matter what the time is. It’s a pleasure to meet someone from the old Corps still kicking.”

  Torbin shook Doc’s hand. “Semper Fi, Doc. By the way, here. Take this business card. If you want something, give me a call.”

  “Thanks, Skipper. Maybe we can have a beer sometime. Prophet Smith has allowed a little brewing to go on, as long don’t we get drunk. You can wind
up in good old fashioned stocks in the town square if you do.”

  Torbin laughed. “One more thing before I get out of your way—you’ve met Captain Abigail Young before, yes?”

  “Sure. She’s one of the Twenty.”

  Torbin’s brow furrowed. “The Twenty?”

  “Yeah, Skipper. She and some of the other orphans from Idaho way are called the Twenty. They’ve been trained as one bunch of kickass special forces troops for the last five years or so. They’re STRAC troops. I feed ‘em good when they come here.” He glanced at his watch.

  “Captain Young should be running a formation of cadets by here at any minute. She’s in charge of physical and tactical training for the high school cadet officer training program. Deseret has a universal draft, so the cream of the crop starts out in high school so they can be officers. Unless you have some type of serious disability, or are an old fart like me, you get trained. Pity the fool who tries an invasion here now. Even the Squids.”

  Torbin thanked Doc again, and left out of the front doors. He heard jody calls and grinned. Just like old times, young troops were getting their asses run off early in the morning before breakfast. It looked like Deseret was taking war fighting seriously. The Unoccupied States had not gone back to the draft yet, having enough prior service and volunteers to flesh out the current military establishment. But, after the nuke, Torbin believed that would all change.

  He heard a formation approaching and was able to make out the jody.

  “I don’t know but I’ve been told,” the cadence leader started the jody.

  “I don’t know but I’ve been told,” the formation answered. The two entities continued alternating repeating each line.

  “Heaven’s gates are made of gold.”

  “I don’t know but it’s been said.”

  “The Squids’ gates are made of lead.”

  Torbin smiled. Military and police units throughout history have put their own stamp on jody calls as the enemy and war changed. Here in Deseret, religion had also influenced what was chanted.

  He noticed the unit rounding the corner at the end of the block, unit flag bearer up front.

  Running in step with the unit flag was Abigail. Did she even have a personal life, or time off? Apparently not.

  They saw each other at the same time.

  “Formation.”

  “Ma’am.” Forty voices responded at once.

  “Quick time… harch!”

  Two counts and they were walking.

  “Formation... halt!” One, two, they stopped as one.

  “Left…face.” Forty complete strangers’ eyes looked straight at him. Torbin saw both males and females, all high school age, and all wearing identical sweat gear.

  “Parade… rest.” Abigail stepped up to Torbin and gave him a parade ground salute. Torbin was already standing at attention, years of habit taking over.

  “Captain Bender. Good morning, Sir.”

  Torbin returned the salute. “Captain Young, Good morning right back at you.”

  “Sir, would you mind saying a few words to my cadets? I have been fielding questions since yesterday. The Prophet had a broadcast breakdown of your attack on Key West last night on our radio and television.”

  Aw, hell. He had hit the rack as soon as he could yesterday and didn’t even turn on the clock radio, so he didn’t even know how many channels they had. Well, no rest for the wicked.

  “Alright, Captain. But please, first put your people at ease.”

  Abigail gave him a happy grin. “Thank you, Sir.”

  “Cadets. At ease!” After they had assumed their “at ease” position, Torbin had to laugh to himself. Now he understood what Madam President and others saw when they told him to relax. Relaxing while in the presence of superiors was apparently even more alien to them as it was to him. “At ease” looked like a stiff “parade rest.”

  Torbin stepped forward. “Alright, ladies and gentlemen. I understand you all have been pestering the good Captain Young about my ‘adventures’. Well, now is your chance to pester me with questions.” He thought he heard some suppressed laughter. He fixed them with his best steely gaze.

  “But one warning. Captain Young is my comrade in arms, as well as my friend. We have faced death together, which is something you all will probably understand better someday. Today, do not disrespect her or embarrass her by asking me stupid, smartass questions. Clear?”

  “Sir. Yes sir!” They snapped to attention as one, answered as one, and returned back to at ease. He saw Abigail swell with pride. To get a bunch of fifteen to eighteen year olds with raging hormones to be this focused and this disciplined was no mean feat. Especially when you were essentially the same age.

  “Alright. Ask away.” It took a moment, but finally, one brave young woman raised her hand. “Go ahead, young lady.”

  She snapped to attention. “Sir. Begging your pardon sir, but did you really kill a Squid with a knife?”

  Abigail seemed like she was about to tear into the Cadet for questioning his honesty, but Torbin chimed in. “Yes and no. First, it was not just a knife. It was this Ka-Bar.” With that, he pulled the blade from his vest. “It is a weapon, a fighting blade, of superior quality. A knife is something you use to eat Sunday dinner. A fighting blade is a weapon you use to destroy your enemy. That is part of the yes.”

  “The no part is that I had to use an improvised spear to finish the job. You will learn to improvise and overcome if you listen to Captain Young and her peers. I was also either lucky or my guardian angel was working overtime as I won against something with eight arms and two tentacles. Don’t try that on your own. Shooting them is so much easier.” This last part did elicit some titters of laughter.

  “Next question, please.”

  A tall young man raised his hand. “Sir, were you afraid?”

  He fixed the young man with his gaze. “Of course I was afraid. Anyone who says they don’t feel fear is either a liar or is a sociopath. Trust neither. Captain Young and her cohorts will teach you how to use that fear, and to control it. The adrenaline rush makes you stronger, faster, puts you on your toes. It also tells you—if you pay attention—that you are about to do something stupid. Stupidity has killed more people than fear ever has. Next.”

  Another young woman asked the next question. “Sir, how did you get the nuclear weapon to the Squids’ base?”

  “I can’t give you all the details as some involve classified tactics, but I will tell you this. The person who delivered it was Captain Ichiro Yamamoto, Free Japan Defense Forces. He is a warrior in the tradition of the code of Bushido. He also makes me look like an old, slow, tree sloth.”

  He paused for a moment, silently prayed that Ichiro would make it home, soon. If not for Ichiro, Torbin knew he would be dead meat. Literally. He continued. “Captain Yamamoto personally killed over a dozen Tschaaa warriors with his samurai sword. And please do not even think I am bullshitting… excuse me, exaggerating. I saw him slice through Tschaaa as if they were standing still. He proves that, given the right training and tactics, we are superior to the Tschaaa. We will take back control of Earth.” He stopped, his emotion causing him to shake a bit.

  He took a deep breath, and let it out.“Sorry, I did not want to turn this into a rant. Next question, please.”

  He spoke for another ten minutes when Abigail wrapped up the questions. “Thank you, Captain Bender. They still need to eat prior to their school classes, so they’ll be happy that I am going cut the rest of the exercise period short, let them shower, then hit the chow hall. Have you already eaten?”

  “Yes, Ma’am. Doc stuffed me enough that I am suitable for mounting in the local museum of history.”

  Abigail laughed, then stopped herself. She felt she had to keep a higher level of control in front of her cadets.

  “Then I will see you tonight, Captain Bender. The President and Senior Prophet will send a limo to pick you up at your quarters at 1730 hours. The small affair will be in a meeting room
near the Salt Lake Tabernacle. I’ll meet you there.”

  She addressed her troops again. “I think we need to thank Captain Bender for sharing with you his experiences and training. Shall we?”

  “Thank you, Captain Bender. Hurrah! Hurrah! Hurrah! May God bless you and keep you safe!”

  Torbin paused for a moment. What could he say? He knew that he had just become a local legend to these young people. He hoped that he was worthy of their belief in him, and that would not be their collective undoing.

  “Vaya con Dios!” he yelled back. Abigail saluted him, and he returned the salute. Within moments, she had her formation double timing back toward their dormitories.

  Damn she was good. Torbin wished he had been as put together and as focused when he was eighteen years of age. But, then again, he hadn’t had to keep from being eaten or starving to death for six years prior.

  He made his way back to his quarters. He took another hot shower, trying to speed the healing in the bruises and hurt muscles all over his body. Then he laid down and dozed off.

  He woke at noon, the extra sleep telling him his body was trying to heal itself. More bruises had shown up on his torso, probably from the Squid throwing him around. He suspected he was also still suffering from a bit of shock from having the crap beat out of him. Whatever the reason, it was nice that he could get the extra rest. Spending an extra day in Deseret seemed to have its unforeseen benefits.

  He put his new set of camos back on and went downstairs to the Charge of Quarters office. The young Corporal fell all over himself trying to help Torbin get a telephone connection via their base switchboard to his people in Malmstrom. Using some type of landline contact, he reached Security Control. They were a bit shocked to be in contact with Deseret. The past couple of years, the Independent State had ignored the presence of the U.S.A., and had been incommunicado to the outside world. Now, the U.S. was now trying to figure out its new relationship with a State that was suddenly helping to return one of Madam President’s wayward sons.