The Tsunami

by Marshall Miller

  Other than a couple of I-Hawk missile batteries provided by the Japanese, as well some salvaged ex-Naval Phalanx anti-aircraft gun systems, it had been the Russians who had been a godsend for providing heavy anti-aircraft missiles and gun systems. The U.S.A. forces had salvaged a small number of man portable Stinger missiles, a couple of ancient Redeyes, and an old Chaparral tracked system from some National Guard storage area. Then the Russians had shown up.

  Over a thousand SA-7s shoulder launched systems from all the various types, a few Sa-8s and SA-4s, then a bunch of anti-aircraft cannon had appeared in Alaska. Slow fishing vessels, coastal freighters, some Russian Cushion air assault craft had provided a lifeline, transporting people and equipment across the Bering Straits to Alaska. SU-23 twin mount anti-aircraft cannon, a couple of Quad Mount ZSU-23 tracked systems, some hundred 14.5 anti-aircraft guns removed from stored obsolete tanks had been sent over, with a quantity of ammunition. Madam President had reports on her desk of other treasures in the pipeline. The fact the Russians never seemed to throw anything away was enabling her to throw up a ring of protection around the major surviving cities and bases.

  Add twenty-five hundred crazy Russians, many of whom were Spetsnaz, with AKs and RPGs, and a hard fighting force was taking shape. An additional small force of trainers were also en route. Some one thousand Japanese had also shown up, many barely out of basic training. The Americans had been told additional training was on them, which was why Torbin, Ichiro and Abigail were so vital.

  Now, however, there was a threat already in her own backyard, one that had been hidden apparently for a while. A threat exacerbated by the fact that humans seemed to be right in the center of it.

  George Williams saw the troubled look in her eyes. He had almost forgotten how many years he had known her, well before he had become her Special Assistant, now basically her Chief of Staff. He was very protective of her, almost exceedingly so. Madam President, Sal to a few close friends, had been friends of his wife, son and daughter for years. With only a surviving daughter, Madam President had grown closer to the tight inner circle of friends, becoming a family-like unit. This was the new normal among the survivors.

  “Just had to look at those emailed pictures from Commissioner Miller, didn’t you? I asked you to let me handle it.”

  “What kind of President would I be if I only dealt with pleasant things? I can’t go through life looking at pictures of pink bunnies, and nothing else.”

  George sighed. There was not a single day that he did not wish she was not so damned stubborn, so willing to take the full weight of everything on her shoulders. It was beginning to really age her. She had become President of the surviving states by default, there being no one else who could or would step up to the plate. George often told God how screwed up this was. Why just her? “So, now that you scarred your eyeballs for life, what is the next step?”

  George then saw the “spine of steel” appear. Once Madam President made a decision, was about to go after someone with a dull fish knife, it was like she became a thing of steel, no longer human. Since Ichiro Yamamoto had appeared with his unique sword skills, George thought of the Samurai’s katana as the epitome of what she was. This extremely sharp, strong blade, but with the ability to bend and bounce back. Metal with great strength that was not brittle.

  But everything, everybody had its limits. Just not today.

  “We hunt them down, the Krakens, their sympathizers, those sick individuals that find what was done to those young children entertaining. We prosecute them if we must, as I have to prove we are a Nation State based on laws. But if we have to kill them outright, so be it.”

  The Iron Lady of England had nothing over Madam President. She continued.

  “We broadcast the images of what these pieces of shit did to innocent children and animals. Those dog monsters may have started as offspring of someone’s pet, companion. And the evidence of bestiality, the DVD images uncovered so far…” She began to shake with anger. The leader of the Free Allies gripped the back of her chair so hard George thought she would break it.

  “Sal…,” he said in a soft, low voice. Slowly she released her chair, then reached into a right hand drawer to remove one of her signature handkerchiefs. The steel blade began to dab her eyes in an attempt to save her makeup.

  “George, I am going to have to do something else unpleasant today.”

  “What is that, Ma’am?”

  “Young Alesha Taylor. Our dark skinned answer to the Director’s Kathy Monroe. Instead of a nice, calm intro to the wonderful world of broadcasting, she gets to handle this story, warts, sick images and all.”

  George drew in a short intake of breath. She could have been his daughter. A young person of color, just turned twenty one years of age, the President’s man felt very protective of her. She had barely survived fleeing here with her mother some six years ago, the rest of her family all butchered by the Squids. She had just started a teenage modeling career when the rocks fell, had undergone a special hell of seeing family members captured and killed, while she and her mother fled. Somehow, her mother, Glenda, had kept her alive, fed, clothed during the Long Winter. She landed a job near Great Falls, Montana. Then Glenda was struck down last year with MS—Multiple Sclerosis. She had volunteered for some experimental treatments using Tschaaa medical science, nanites, and was just in the first stages. Now, it was the daughter’s turn to take care, support the mother.

  “Madam President, do you think it is a good idea to show…”

  “Hell yes, it is!” She snapped back. “The Director, his wives, his supporters, the Squids and all their minions, everyone in the world with access to a screen is going to see what humans are doing in the name of serving the Tschaaa. See how they like the thought of their daughters being raped by mutated apes, forced to fight each other and hell creatures, for the benefit of some sick pleasure. My mother told me years ago that you are judged by the company you keep. Let’s see how normal people react when they see the company the Squids keep, what miscreants they consider as friends. Yes, Miss Taylor will have to help me get the message out.”

  She paused. Then spoke. “She is supposed to be here for a meeting in a few minutes, correct?”

  “Yes Ma’am.”

  “Well, I guess we’ll see then what will be her reaction, after seeing these pictures, videos.”

  George knew that it was useless to argue with her. She had made up her mind. He just hoped it would turn out alright.

  A few minutes later, a statuesque dark-skinned female entered the Presidential Office. Alesha Taylor still carried herself with the calm confidence of a professional model, along with the runway figure. Tall, close to 5’10”, with the four inch heels she was wearing she was now an even more imposing figure. She smiled and walked directly up to the President, hand extended to shake hers.

  “Madam President. Finally I get to meet you in person. It is an honor.”

  The President felt a firm handshake. As a professional politician, she had learned the importance of a firm handshake in the “world of men” that she had entered. Since the Invasion by the Tschaaa, traditional roles, and worlds of influence had all but disappeared. Only the need of women to give birth and rear children kept a semblance of the traditional roles in place.

  “Oh pshaw. Just remember I am the First Citizen, not royalty. I am here to serve. As are you, I hope.”

  “Of course, Ma’am. I jumped at the chance to do something…constructive. The human race needs a professional model right now like it needs a collective hole in the head. But if I can be part of a way to spread the word of the evil we face, to counteract the propaganda of the blonde bimbo, then I’m your woman.”

  She saw the President examining her intently. Alesha knew that something else had just entered the process of her becoming the face of the U.S.A. on public media. “Well, as George has no doubt told you, I am often very blunt, and I cut through to the chase. Please step over to my computer desk, and have a seat.” Alesha
complied, sitting before a blank screen.

  “What you are about to see has only been seen by a handful of people, outside of those who conducted the raid. We lost two good agents at the compound you are about to view. One died there. The other…” Madam President paused, “She committed suicide hours after seeing, experiencing what you are about to see. So, after this, there is no stepping back, you will be presenting this on your first broadcast tonight. If you can.”

  Alesha took a moment to prepare herself. She looked at the President, with a look of steel similar to what George saw in the President’s eyes.

  “I am ready if you are. Like they used to say, I didn’t come here to whistle Dixie.”

  With that, the President touched the keyboard to the images on the screen, and then stepped back. Fifteen minutes later of viewing the videos and the still pictures, Alesha stood up, and stepped back herself. She was shaking, which the President saw was from rage. A rage that she had seen in hard people, when faced with an unjust, evil situation. The former model turned toward the President of the U.S.A.

  “Ma’am, let’s go get those pieces of shit. I didn’t flee literal hounds, dog packs to have to put up with …this. If you can’t use me as a broadcaster, give me gun. I’ll replace the agent who killed herself….”

  Madam President took her right hand in both of hers. “We have enough gun carriers right now. What I need is you, a face and a voice for good. Welcome aboard. But I warn you. It will not get easier.”

  CHAPTER 14

  KEY WEST, FLORIDA

  In the early hours of the next day, Adam Lloyd was reviewing the recording of the broadcast from the Unoccupied States in his office. This was the third time he had slowly gone through it, stopping and looking at individual frames. Reviewing the U.S.A.’s version of Kathy Monroe, he knew they had a voice and a face for their message of Resistance.

  Alesha Taylor had started her first broadcast simply enough. “Good evening, my fellow humans and citizens. My name is Alesha Taylor. Starting tonight, I will be seen on this broadcast station, as well as on internet feed, presenting news and information. This broadcast feed is originating from facilities near the New Capital, Bismarck, North Dakota. Yes, a lot of the news and information will be provided by U.S.A. government sources. However, I have been given the right to both verify the information I am given as well the right to refuse to broadcast something I feel is false, biased, or untruthful. I will not simply be a mouthpiece for those in power, like a certain pretty blonde that broadcasts from the Occupied States, who everyone has come to know. I will work my hardest to provide factual information that improves your lives, and serves as a reminder of the freedom which we enjoy. This same freedom is not enjoyed in the concentration camps of the Cattle Country, nor in the Tschaaa-controlled areas of this world which we call Earth, our home. Our Home, not the home of the Squids.”

  The camera switched and she turned slightly to the new primary feed camera. “Tonight was originally planned to be a hello, how are you, get acquainted broadcast. I was going to give you details on an upcoming awards ceremony for a K-9 warrior and a civilian that demonstrated exceptional courage and valor.” She paused, then continued.

  “But then Federal and local law enforcement agents conducted a raid and served a search warrant on a compound and former commercial horse stables on the outskirts of Great Falls, Montana. The original reason was to break up a dog fighting and illegal drug operation. The agents quickly discovered a level of evil and horror not normally associated with the U.S.A. We think that the Tschaaa—the Squids—have a monopoly in their controlled areas on such activities. Now, it has been found in our own backyard.”

  Alesha paused, swallowed, and began again. “I suggest that young children be removed from the room, and not be allowed to view the recorded images we are about to show you. The images you are about to see are are not for the squeamish. They were obtained from helmet cams and other cameras used by the agents during the raid, to record the details of the action, as well as for evidentiary use in court. The next fifteen minutes are an accurate sampling of the entire raid. And yes, I can say this because I used some of my own sources to verify that there was no photoshopping, no Hollywood-style production activities going on. This raid happened. Again, watch this at your own risk.”

  The next fifteen minutes were of scenes starting with the first approach to the stables, the first beast attacks on through an overview of the results after the compound was secured. Some were close-ups of snarling dog-monsters, baboon creatures, mutated chimps, and the giant weasels as they attacked and were shot or hacked down. Vikings were seen with large swords and shields in a couple of scenes, a surprise to most viewers. Adam thought, Where did they get these soldiers, these warriors?

  The most horrific and disturbing scenes were the ones involving the children. Parts of their nude bodies and faces were obscured for privacy, but one could still see the sorry state they were in as they were rescued. Probably the most effective part, from a purely propaganda aspect, was the scene where a large bearded man was seen opening the doors of a semi-truck trailer, and the humanlike creatures that attacked as the agents tried to rescue a couple of little girls. The sight of the huge man using a Bowie knife to slay an attacking hominid creature, with the comment of sending it to hell, could not have been more effective if it had been part of a Hollywood epic. And this was real.

  Then, the pictures of the three child-sized bodies hanging, after having been bled out.

  The recording next went to a line of dead monsters and creatures, mutated and modified so that their own mothers would not have recognized them. Examples of all the major types were lined up side by side, the camera panning down for a good look of each.

  Next, the line of prisoners. Close-ups were taken of two with huge Kraken tattoos on their chests, their shirts having been removed for the full effect. Several had smaller tattoos. All the tattoos were of high quality, colorful, done by someone or some ones who knew what they were doing, had some artistic flair. If not for the subject matter, people would have found them attractive.

  Finally, Alesha was back on the screen. “I was told that in many instances of evil, some good can be found. These following pictures are just that—examples of good, of humans helping humans.”

  There was a view of five young girls sitting in a semi-circle, eating and drinking hot chocolate, now at least partially clothed. Someone had cleaned their faces, and tied back their messy hair. Adam caught the glimpse of Torbin Bender’s profile, and chuckled once again. How that Marine always got himself in the middle of things was surprising. Adam guessed it was because he always charged to the sound of gunfire, into harm’s way, like many an ancient warrior. He knew he would be criticized once again for letting him go, but the Director did not care. Sometimes you had to do what was right, humane, and honorable, damn the consequences.

  The final section of film was the huge Viking from the trailer, as he carried a sleeping little girl, snuggled securely in his large arms. A Japanese man was following him, carrying what was probably the Viking’s sword and shield. Then the camera panned to the four other girls being given piggyback rides by four other equally large warriors, with a statuesque blonde female bringing up the rear, a compound bow in hand. Adam shook his head. How could the Tschaaa and Krakens hope to match soldiers such as these?

  Alesha continued. “Special Deputy Marshals took custody of the five young girls, insuring they had nice, clean beds to sleep in that night, in safe and loving homes. Before we go to a break, after which Commissioner Miller will talk more about the raid, and investigation, I have something personal to say.”

  Alesha then looked directly into the camera, which zoomed to a close-up.

  “My mother and I had to flee hounds to get to the Unoccupied States. I lost the rest of my family, who were either killed or imprisoned because they are humans with dark skin. But I also know that, in a pinch, we are all capable of being menu items for the Squids.

  “So
this is for all you humans out there, all over planet Earth. Which side would you rather be on? Would you rather be working with fellow humans, trying to keep the rest of humankind from being eaten? Or would you rather be on the side of these Krakens, these Squids, who mutate, modify native creatures into monsters, including our canine friends? Who use and abuse young girls in every way imaginable, and then gut and slaughter them?”

  There was steel in her eyes and in her voice. “So for those who are enjoying Tschaaa technology, medicine, plenty of food, the restored internet—are you willing to pay the price? This price? Sacrificing our young for the pleasures of an alien infestation and its minions? Just because it’s someone else’s children and relatives being abused, eaten?”

  A tear ran down her face, endangering her makeup. “I know my answer. It’s old, maybe archaic to some. Liberty or death. Whatever it takes, defeat the Squids, the Krakens, the Director. No more. I repeat, no more dead little girls and boys.

  “Now, to break please, so I can fix my makeup.”

  At that moment, Adam Lloyd knew his Mission was lost. The message Alesha had just given, using the film footage, would resonate around the world, would shame others into action. Out of sight, out of mind. That could not work any longer, with these images personalizing the death that had been hidden, primarily in Cattle Country. Things would explode. The Earth may be made uninhabitable, a scorched Earth policy like the Russians used against the Nazis, but that would mean for the Tschaaa also. Salvaging just one part of humankind was no longer an option. It was all or none.

  There was a light rapping on the door. “Adam, it’s Mary. Kat and I need to talk with you.” They had trouble sleeping just like he had after watching the broadcast. They had all slept together as usual, but the two sister wives kept jerking from bad dreams all night, Adam waking them and holding his two loves until they fell asleep again. He dozed a bit, that was it.