Torbin was told that his wife, Captain Smirnov, was out training with some other Russians. He left a message that he was fine and should be back to Malmstrom sometime late the next day. He also asked them to pass the same information on to General Reed. He did not expect a call back. He knew they had already had discussions about him, or this deal would not have been set up.
Based on what Torbin saw, Deseret had done quite nicely going it alone as an Independent State, due by no small part to Senior Prophet and President Smith’s leadership. Why risk breaking something that was working just fine?
He thanked the young Corporal and started to leave, when the young man addressed him directly.“Sir?”
“Yes Corporal?”
“Begging your pardon, sir, but may I shake your hand? I lost my whole family to Squids. Anyone who can nuke them and kill them with a knife…. It would be an honor to shake your hand.”
Torbin looked at his nametag to make sure he got the name right.
“Well, Corporal Stewart, I’ll shake the hand of any fighting man. Just remember that a whole bunch of other people were also involved in the operation, some of whom did not make it back. So, you are also shaking their hands, through me.” He stuck out his hand and the Corporal took it. Torbin hoped this adulation he was receiving died down and quickly. He was not comfortable being anything more than a Grunt, but in the back of his mind, he knew that his status as hero would probably continue. He silently cursed his reality.
“Thank you, Sir. I just hope the Prophet decides it is time for us to strike back at the Squids too.”
“When that day comes—which I think will be soon, Corporal—I think you soldiers here in Deseret will have no problems making life difficult for them. Judging by the level of readiness and training I have seen, the Squids will rue the day they angered you.”
The Corporal’s chest seemed to swell with group pride. He was a small cog in a big machine, but he would do his part.
“Thanks again, Captain. Have a safe trip back home. Please speak kindly of us Mormons when you see your people again.”
Torbin smiled. “That I will, Corporal Stewart. That I will.”
Torbin strolled over to the chow hall to stretch his legs and get something to eat. A healing body needs fuel to support the healing. He tried to blend in, but the damned broadcasts the President Prophet had made the night before must have been like an old Hollywood publicity production, with pictures and all, espousing his of virtues and manliness. Troops saw him, and a low mummer began. Some seemed to gaze at him in awe.
Goddamnit. He was just a man, not a messiah.
Just then, Doc Stubbs appeared, his stogie stuck between his lips. He growled and people parted as he walked over to Torbin and sat down at his table.
“See you got hungry again, Skipper. Or did you just wanted to see my ugly mug?”
Torbin laughed. Doc walking over and sitting down seemed to break the enthralled spell his presence had cast over the people in the chow hall. They resumed paying more attention to getting their meal than talking about Torbin.
“As much as I enjoy your company, Doc, yes, my body is demanding sustenance again. These stuffed pork chops I have look right tasty. Your work?”
Doc waved the comment away. “Nah, just supervised it. I’m training a staff so that when I go to the big chow hall in the sky, they will carry on the tradition of good food makes for good troops.”
Every organization needs its pillars, its foundations to insure it keeps functioning. Doc was a major part of that foundation. He probably also added a little bit of alternate views, being a non-believer who was also well respected by just about everyone.
“Skipper, got a rumor that General Huff, the senior commander of our military, is looking for you. Probably doing it for a good old fashioned photo op. That’s what he does. He talks a good fight, don’t think he has ever been in one. Just play along, he’s harmless.”
Torbin smiled. “Thanks, Doc. Seems I’ve run into a lot of guys like that. Now, I just want to be able to leave tomorrow at oh dark thirty to head home and see my wife.”
“Well, Skipper, stop by here. I’ll try and have something waiting for you to take along for chow. The drive up to Montana is an all day affair.”
“Will do, Doc. I appreciate the offer.”
Just then, a commotion began at the chow hall entrance. Suddenly, someone was yelling, “Ten hut! General on deck.”
Just as Torbin began to automatically stand, he heard an “At ease, at ease. This is a chow hall, not a parade ground. Keep eating.”
Torbin stood and examined the figure, a General officer heading in his direction with a large grin plastered on his face. General Huff did not look like a field commander. Or any real commander. A slightly balding, pudgy man, red faced but with an overall fair complexion, he had the bearing and demeanor of an office supervisor or minor bureaucrat. Although he had the reputation of being pleasant, he exuded the leadership capability of a rock. Everyone knew that President Smith actually ran the military forces in Deseret.
He was about the same height as Torbin so he looked directly into his eyes as he stuck out his hand.
“It is a pleasure to meet you, Captain Bender. The President speaks very highly of you. I’m General Archibald Huff, Chief of Staff of the Deseret Military Forces.”
Torbin shook his hand at attention. “Sir. Pleasure to meet you.” At least the General had a fairly firm handshake.
“Please, Captain, sit. Finish your meal. Mind if I join you?”
“Of course not, General. I’m your guest and here at your pleasure.”
General Huff motioned with his hand and his two aides quickly produced a cold drink with ice and a large piece of apple pie. Apparently the General was a regular at the chow hall. Doc had made a quick and stealthy withdrawal, so Torbin was on his own.
General Huff took a couple of bites of pie, then resumed talking.
“I saw you chatting with Doc Stubbs. He’s a treasure to our military, provides good food that keeps our soldiers happy and healthy. I don’t know what we would do without him.” Judging by his pudgy, soft exterior, the General really appreciated Doc Stubbs’ food preparation abilities.
“Yes sir. The breakfast I had this morning was some of the best military chow I’ve had in years.”
“Yes, Captain. I eat here every chance I get. I need to keep up with what my troops are eating and doing. Gives me a chance to mingle.” He quickly polished off the one slice of pie, and an aide magically replaced it with another.
“But, enough about food. I just want to tell you, Captain Bender, that you have provided a real life role model for all of our service members. You’ve done this by striking directly at the devil’s spawn, the Tschaaa and their minions. Someday soon I hope that we in Deseret have the capability to mount such an attack.”
Torbin couldn’t help wonder how many people Deseret had under arms or available for response. He saw an awful lot of young people in uniform or in training.
“Well, Sir, from what I see, you have a strong military force here, based on the numbers I see in training and in uniform.”’
General Huff gave a self-satisfied grin. “Since you will be taking Captain Young back as a liaison/military attaché, I don’t think I will be speaking out of turn to say we can mobilize some one hundred thousand military personnel, including mechanized and aviation assets, in twenty-four hours. We have a total military draft, and all able bodied citizens are expected to train and do their part. In a week, we could mobilize even more personnel.”
The General’s face then took on a more serious look. “We had a bit over three million people living in Deseret, then known as Utah, when the spawn of Satan showed up. We lost about a half million souls during the first year of this occupation. Thanks to the long standing practice of Mormons keeping supplies stored for disasters and lean years, we quickly rebounded, organized and survived. We had few additional casualties after the first weeks of the long winter. Hill Air F
orce Base had been hit pretty hard, but we had only two reported harvester arks landing and taking people. We had some non- believers leave when they found out the Mormon religion would be the official state religion of the new State of Deseret. But some stayed, and helped us to rebound into what you see today. We have a strong and happy group of citizens, and a strong military.”
Torbin could tell the effect that the invasion had on General Huff, the security he felt by having this strong, religiously-based central government that controlled just about everything in Deseret. The Prophet and President Smith was the authority that bound it all together.
“So General, Prophet and President Smith really brought things together after the rock strikes stopped?”
General Huff sipped his cold drink and answered. “He showed up at the end of the first year.” He continued. “He left the remains of a Marine Corps Unit around San Diego and made his way to the then Utah, as he was a practicing Mormon and had some relatives around Salt Lake City. He appeared, and said he has been sent by God to get everything back on the right path. He spoke with confidence and certainty, and had a certain aura about him. The surviving more junior Apostles—the prior Prophet and the Senior Apostles had been killed—who were at the Salt Lake City Tabernacle, recognized his Divine Mission and Authority, fell to their knees and immediately made this almost-stranger the Prophet and the President of the Church. They saw he was one with with God. Last year, he demanded a secular election to determine if someone other than the senior church official, the Prophet, would run the Nation State Government. He said that he would eventually have to deal with surviving countries and organizations, and wanted to do that in a secular realm, separate from the religious and divine.”
Torbin could see an almost look of awe from the General as he kept speaking.
“He did not want to be seen as a Pope, the leader of a religious state recognized as some odd Head of State for diplomatic reasons. He wanted to be the elected head of The Nation State of Deseret, to show that he was dealing with the real outside world as a democratically-elected leader, not a theocratic ruler. This also gave him the chance to gauge the satisfaction of our citizens, or dissatisfaction, with how he was doing in rebuilding Deseret. It was an overwhelming majority, ninety-nine percent of the votes for him. In four years, there will be another election.”
“If I may be so bold as to ask, General, but it sounds like you’ve been with him since he was recognized as the Prophet.”
General gave a broad grin. “Yes. Exactly. Some surviving National Guardsmen, Air Force personnel, and I had been trying to restore some organization, salvage what we could from Hill Air Force Base and other installations in Utah. He grabbed us before he went to the Tabernacle, and told us he was the Prophet. We all could recognize and sense his authority from God. Like Jesus in Jerusalem, we followed him, waiting to be told what to do. He quickly appointed me as the Chief of Staff, a lowly Major, with concurrence of the Apostles.”
Torbin saw an almost adoring look in the General’s eyes when he spoke of following Prophet and President Smith. He hoped this did not mean there was an unacceptable level of fanaticism in their beliefs. That would make it difficult for a secular government in the Unoccupied States to deal with Deseret in a trusting manner. There was enough fanaticism within the Church of Kraken and some of the Director’s followers without having another bunch of crazy “my way or the highway” screw-ups.
“Well, General, he seemed to have accomplished his mission. Everyone I’ve seen seems to be well fed, motivated, as happy as a human can be, given the knowledge that there are some aliens trying to serve you up as the main course.”
General Huff burst out with a belly laugh. He thrust out his hand to Torbin again. “I knew that you’d turn out to be a man of superior insight and intellect. I knew it when the Prophet told me about you.”
The General stood up and waved at his two aides, who quickly produced two cameras. “Here, my good Captain. I must have some photos with you for my wife and children. They think you may be a figment of our news media.”
For the next couple of minutes, General Huff had photos taken with Torbin in various poses—from shaking hands, to the General with his hand on his shoulder. The General seemed like a good sort, but with very limited combat leadership ability. He was strictly a follower. Prophet Smith was clearly the actual Leader and Commander of the Deseret military.
“Well, my fine Captain, I must be off. Have a safe trip back to Montana with Abigail.”
“Thank you, Sir. Stay safe, General.”
General Huff laughed. “Always.” As he exited the chow hall, the General made a showing of talking to the troops coming in to eat, glad-handing whomever he could.
There was a collective sigh of relief when he and his aids finally left.
Doc reappeared, still chewing on his unlit stogie. “Well, you survived that little vignette.”
Torbin snorted. “He seems like a likable guy, but a Field General? Please.”
“Well, Skipper, you hit it right on the head. Just remember to stop by in the morning. I’ll have some good eats for you and the young Captain to take on your trip.”
“Thanks again, Doc. See you then.”
Torbin headed back to his Quarters. He wanted to rest a bit, get everything packed up for the morning, and then get dressed for the shindig that night. He hoped that Abigail wouldn’t be so uptight that she would start to self-destruct. He sighed. Well, you can only do what you can. He hoped he could help her enjoy her birthday and coming of age party. She deserved it.
After all that, the consternation and concern about the “Sturm Und Drang” was soon seen by Torbin as misdirected.
The social gathering was held at a hall off of the Salt Lake City Tabernacle, the spiritual center of the Mormon religion. Prophet and President Smith presided over some thirty guests, including other youthful members of what the Mormons called The Twenty. Abigail was positioned at the seat of honor, to the Prophet’s right. Torbin was placed to the right of her. Directly to the Prophet’s left was his wife, Ester Smith.
When Torbin first saw Mrs. Smith, his immediate impression was that she had just stepped off the cover of some major fashion or celebrity magazine, had they still existed. Tall, slender, slinky, and exotic-looking with jet dark hair—she had a slight Eurasian look about her. Torbin had overheard others saying that she was born and raised in Utah. It would be interesting to learn how she had come to “hook up” with a former Marine, as she looked like she had more likely hobnobbed with the pre-strike Hollywood and fashion elite. She gave Torbin an intense examination with her dark brown almost black eyes, then flashed him a smile which showed he had passed some form of inspection.
Torbin had wondered why Mrs. Smith was worried about competition from Abigail, that was until he saw Abigail for the first time in something other than fatigues or sweats. This night, she had a formal, military blouse or jacket directly modeled after the Marine Corps Dress Blues. Red and blue striping plus flashy medals and ribbons. Her naturally bright blonde hair was done up in a fashionable bun, and it looked like someone had helped her with a professional makeup job. From the waist down, Torbin could tell was the Prophet’s influence. She wore a long formal skirt instead of Marine Dress Blue slacks, which Torbin knew she had wanted. But, he had to agree with Prophet and President Smith’s choice, as the skirt fit Abigail like a glove, showing off the well- toned body of a grown young woman. The skirt was slit part way up, revealing that Abigail had nylons or pantyhose on (probably a first) and, surprises of surprises, two inch heel shoes. She looked gorgeous.
After the proforma introduction of Torbin to the assembled group, Prophet Smith kept the congratulatory introduction speech short and sweet. He ended with a simple statement. “Captain Abigail Young has accomplished much in her now eighteen years of life. She, like many, has had to endure much, thanks to our unwelcome visitors, the Tschaaa. Now she will be go on to bigger and better things, serving Deseret, the church and th
e Lord as a Liaison Officer and Official Representative to the Unoccupied States. I am certain that Captain Bender, our honored guest, and her comrade-in-arms, will help to keep our daughter safe.” The Prophet raised his glass. “A toast to Abigail on her eighteenth birthday. May she have many, many, more.” Everyone stood and raised a toast of—surprisingly for Mormons—actual wine. So it was true, Prophet Smith had some new revelations and brought back some Old Testament traditions. Torbin wondered what else he thought needed to be changed.
The Prophet presided over a short prayer prior to the meal being served. “We thank you, Lord, for providing us with this opportunity to break bread on this happy occasion. We implore you to bless all who are here, in this grand hall, celebrating the birthday of a loved and revered member of our community. In the name of Christ Jesus and the Latter Day Saints, Amen.”
As succulent prime rib dinners were brought to the participants, Torbin turned to Abigail. “Please do not take this wrong, but you look absolutely gorgeous; especially for a STRAC combat officer that could probably gut me with a dull fish knife.”
Abigail beamed. She continued smiling as she placed her hand on his arm. “That opinion means the most to me. I am so very lucky that the Lord sent me a friend like you. I look forward to meeting your wife and her friends. And, I look forward to hearing of the birth of your child.”
Torbin smiled warmly back. The more he was around her, the more she felt like the kid sister he never had. “After all that worrying about ‘the ways of women’, you seemed to have been able to figure out how to be a gussied up lady.”
Abigail smiled again. “The Prophet’s wife came and helped me. Completely out of the blue. That is one reason why I am so relaxed. We had a nice long talk. She told me that she and the Prophet do consider me an actual daughter. That, and any rumors of her dislike of me were started out of jealousy. Mrs. Smith gave me a direct telephone number that she says is her private line. Anytime I have a problem in Montana, I should give her a call.” Abigail squeezed his arm again. “I don’t think I will have any problems with the help of a good friend like you, Torbin.”
The Tsunami Page 6
