Stalin began a standard repertoire of attacks he used in his training course. He tried low and high attacks with the point, slashes with the blade edge, and follow through with butt strikes. Abigail seemed to flow, move, and parry every attempt. Stalin began a more aggressive series of attacks, and Abigail started to give ground, slowly. Stalin watched as the young woman was pushed back to the edge of the cleared concrete, to within a foot of the snow covered ground. The Russian made slash at Abigail’s legs, then swung the rifle butt around to knock her rifle away, to be followed by an unobstructed butt smash toward her face.
She was not there. Somehow, seemingly a blur, the Avenging Angel spun to her left, out of the way of the butt smash, the Russian’s right side. Stalin was so surprised that he almost continued forward onto the snow covered ground. But years of experience took over and he managed to regain his balance and spun around himself to face Abigail in an on guard position.
“My turn,” Abigail said in English, and unleashed her attack.
Smacks of wood hitting wood, the ring of steel on steel reverberated as Abigail was an almost blur of motion. Torbin knew she was fast, but not this fast. Only Stalin’s years of experience, his automatic reflexes seemed to save him. A look of solid determination on his face, he once again tried to press an attack. He went in low, a long full thrust to Abigail’s middle that not even he could have pulled at the last moment to prevent a substantial injury. But once again her body was not there. She was behind him, having leapt and twisted like some gymnast. He managed to spin around, and rushed her with his rifle at high port. Rifle smashed into rifle as he tried to use superior mass and strength to push her back, over power her. And hit a brick wall.
For the first time in recent memory, Stalin’s eyes widened large in actual surprise. How could this woman, whom he assumed he outweighed by at least twenty kilos or so, be able to stop this attack?
Then Abigail moved. Stalin found himself sliding by the young lady, a bit off balance from pushing so hard, having tried to overpower his supposedly smaller foe. Somehow he took a blow behind his right knee. His leg buckled, and Stalin tried to roll in the direction of his fall, so that he could go with the blow, get out of the vicinity of Abigail and get back to his feet. Then he saw stars.
A few moments later and he was on his back, sans rifle, a bayonet blade at his throat.
“Yield, Senior Training Instructor Stalin?” A firm female voice asked.
His eyes focused. He heard his men begin to protest, possibly thinking some trick had been pulled. He yelled out in Russian. “Stop. Or else.” Everyone froze. Then, Stalin, on his back, began to chuckle. Then guffaw loudly. Finally, a belly laugh. Abigail tried to stop herself but actually let out a girlish giggle.
“May I be allowed to rise, young lady?”
Abigail withdrew her bayonet blade from his throat and stepped back. Stalin quickly scrambled to his feet, still laughing. He grabbed Abigail, hugged and kissed her on each cheek before she could protest. He spun and faced his men.
“Today, history has been made. An Avenging Angel has taken down this old devil. I think she deserves some recognition.”
Lt. Ivanovich commenced slow applause, which all of the Russians soon joined in rhythm. Then Torbin and Ichiro.
“You must be part Russian, da?” Stalin asked above the din.
“No Sir. Romanian and Norwegian.”
Stalin laughed again. “Hell, close enough.” He met Abigail’s gaze directly. “You can protect my backside anytime you wish,” he said in Russian.
“It would be an honor, Comrade Stalin.”
“Now, after work, I must buy you a drink. Many drinks. ”
“I drink almost no alcohol. I am Mormon.”
Stalin shrugged. “Then I will drink your portion. And buy drinks for the two Majors here.”
The clapping having stopped, Ichiro stepped up to Stalin and Abigail and bowed. “A contest befitting samurai. I am glad no one was seriously hurt.”
Stalin saw Ichiro’s demeanor, and the way he and Abigail suddenly locked eyes. He had seen this look before. “You would have gutted me with your sword had I seriously hurt the good Captain here, would you not?”
It was a day for firsts, as Ichiro suddenly began to stammer, stutter in apparent protest. The scarred Russian held up his hand. “Please, no denials. There is nothing wrong to protect, even seek revenge for a loved one. I would do the same.”
Both Ichiro and Abigail turned shades of crimson, and Torbin burst out laughing. He glanced across the training area, saw some trainees approaching from the opposite end of the large, snow covered field. “Comrade Stalin, prepare to meet your mission.”
Stalin glimpsed the approaching personnel. He barked out, “Alright, Comrades. New meat approaches. Time to make ready.”
He turned and looked at Torbin. “Today will be a long, hard one for them.”
Torbin smiled. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”
That night, Torbin and Abigail had told Aleks about the Russians. When he mentioned Stalin’s name, Aleks’ eyes widened. “Did you say Stalin? Just Stalin?”
“Yes, my dear. He said he only needed one name. And by the way, Abigail here kicked his butt in bayonet training.”
Aleks mouth fell open. “You defeated him with a rifle and bayonet?” she demanded of Abigail.
“Well, he was quite good, so I think it was more by luck than any…why are you staring at me like that?”
Aleks grabbed her husband’s arm. “He is solid, scarred up, looks like he was cut from a block of rock?”
“Why yes, Aleks. You know him personally?”
Aleks went pale. “I must sit down,” she said as she plunked down on the sofa.
“Dearest wife, what’s wrong? Are the trolls kicking too much?”
Aleks took a moment to catch her breath. “Remember what I told you about when Fuzz saved me from the Eaters? What I did, what he did?”
“Why, of course. What…”
Aleks held her hand up to stop him. “There was another person involved.”
“Why of course. A certain dependent wife showed up.”
“No.” Aleks took another deep breath. “Senior Training Instructor Stalin was there. At least his voice was.”
Both Torbin and Abigail stared at her as if she was having a brain fart of some type. “Fuzz hit the first Eater, who had ahold of me, and freed me. I froze for a moment.” She looked at Abigail. “Your big beautiful beastie saved me from that one. Then the second attacked. And I just sat there. Until I heard a voice in my head calling me a fat cow, telling me to get up or die. So I got up, grabbed the shotgun. Then the voice reminded me of my bayonet training. I used a high thrust to get by Fuzz, and shoot the Eater in the head.
“It was his voice; it was his training that helped save me, and helped Fuzz from being permanently injured. I got up, trolls and all, and helped. I owe Stalin. He told all of us that, despite us hating him for his cruel toughness, his constant beating on us, that we, his trainees, would someday appreciate what he had taught us. How he had taught us. And he was right. He helped save my life and the lives of our unborn sons. I owe him. As do you.”
Torbin went to his wife and kissed her. “I guess I really owe him then. I’ll tell him in the morning…”
“No, my husband. I must go and thank him in person.”
“Well, not tomorrow. Stalin is just finishing getting the trainees sorted into new platoons. He needs tomorrow to finish this process.”
“The day after tomorrow then. I will ride in early with you, and find a ride home.”
“No, I will get you there and home. My position has a few perks. Being able to help my pregnant wife is one of them.”
Aleks smiled at her husband in agreement. Then she turned to address Abigail. “Little sister, you beat a Russian legend today, with one of his weapons of choice. There are stories, probably true, that he challenged Cossacks, Syrians, others from foreign lands to duels when they offended him while they
were training in Mother Russia. He does not suffer insults to his honor, nor insults to those under his command. To include trainees. He may scream, curse, and insult you all he wants. But have an outsider try….”
Abigail looked a bit sheepishly. “Had I known that, I would have let him win.”
“No. He’d see that, and would lose all respect for you.” Aleks cocked her head as she looked at Abigail, then grinned.
“This is grand. My little sister, an Avenging Angel, defeated one of the nastiest men alive. This will be a story I tell my trolls when they have grown.”
“Please,” protested Abigail. “Don’t make it any bigger than it already is. Now it sounds as if people will be challenging me.”
Aleks laughed. “As my husband says, ‘No good deed goes unpunished’.”
Aleks’ amusement was temporarily cut short by her two sons moving restlessly in her womb. They had been especially agitated the past twenty-four hours. “Calm yourselves, my children,” she said in a low voice as she rubbed her very large belly. “Let your mother have a few more quiet moments, then we can go back to bed.”
She thought of the day she had gone in to see Stalin at the training area and he had seen her pregnant stomach…
Torbin and Aleks arrived at the training area so early, it was still night out. Yet, Stalin was already there. He had been creating a “problem platoon”. It was on the third day of its creation. Twenty-five of the trainees, most of them having exhibited some characteristic that pissed Stalin off, were now in a platoon receiving his “special” attention. And now, despite Torbin laying down the law to these “experienced” troops, some were on the verge of revolt.
It was below freezing, so Aleks was bundled up in a thick parka to protect her unborn twins. She exited the SUV on her own before Torbin could get out and help. No way did she want to seem dependent on anyone, especially not in front of her former instructor. She marched through the snow to Torbin, then they started up toward where Stalin was haranguing the troublemakers. Stalin was in his regular fatigues with the ubiquitous fur hat that was always shown in the movies. He had a set of gloves stuffed in his belt, which he only used when handling metal weapons. He seemed immune from any frostbite until the temperature dropped well below zero. Torbin had told his wife that he thought Stalin had alcohol or antifreeze in his body rather than normal blood. Aleks had laughed and agreed. He had all the trainees lined up, with rifles extended on stretched arms above their heads. They had gloves on, earflaps of their fur hats down over their ears. They looked as if they had been in that position for several minutes before Torbin and Aleks had arrived, and they were none too happy about it.
“Alright you assholes. We were going to start with some bayonet training, but since two of you are unable to hang on to your weapons because you say your fingers are too cold, well, I’ll just have to warm things up a bit. Anyone’s arms getting tired?” Stalin heard someone grumble under their breath.
“What was that? Someone say something?” He cupped his right ear with his hand.
“Oh, so now you have nothing to say. Training Platoon Leader Smith.”
A slight female in the front row, beginning to shake, answered, “Yes Senior Training Instructor.”
“Take them twice around the track, in formation, weapons above their heads. That ought to solve this bitching problem.”
“Yes, Senior Training Instructor. Platoon, by my command. Left, face. Forward, harch.”
A Left Guide began calling cadence. “Left, left, left, right, left...”
“Goddamnit! Double time!” Stalin boomed at the trainees. He did not yell, or scream. He boomed. They took off as if shot from a cannon. “Keep in step. This is a formation, not a gaggle of geese.”
Suddenly, one older troop slipped on a patch of ice and fell. The platoon kept running. “Man down! Man down, you stupid worthless fuckers! You leave a man behind, I’ll shoot you in the leg, and leave you all behind!” Suddenly, two trainees in the rear doubled back, helped the man up, and helped the older man sprint back to the formation.
“That’s better.” With that he turned toward Aleks and Torbin.
“Major, you are here early. You have someone with you who looks familiar.”
“This is my wife, Major Aleksandra Smirnov.”
Stalin stopped, stood still for a moment. Then, a small smile formed on his face. He snapped to attention and bowed. “Major, I had heard some of my former trainees were here. When I last saw you, you were barely out of Basic Training. Someone thought you would make a good spy, an intelligence operative. That was about a year before the Squids showed up.”
“Yes, Senior Training Instructor Stalin. After…surviving your training, they decided I was officer material. I pulled some field operations, had my bars pinned on me the day before the first rock strike.”
Stalin looked at her belly, switched to Russian. “Pregnancy becomes you, Comrade Major Smirnov. You look very healthy, fit even with twins inside of you.”
“How can you tell? Did someone tell you?” Aleks demanded in Russian.
“No, Comrade Major. I have been around enough to tell by the way a woman looks when pregnant that she is definitely going to have more than one child. And, the way you are carrying you children, I predict they are also boys. Da?”
Aleks snorted. “You always were too smart.”
“It helped keep me alive, Comrade Major. Now, I know there must be a reason you are out here this time of morning. What would that be?”
Aleks continued in English. “I came here to thank you. Your training so many years ago helped me survive a recent attack. It also helped my two trolls in my belly survive.”
Stalin’s brow furrowed a bit. “Now, I’m puzzled. I had not heard of any attacks here.”
With that, Aleks broke into a quick and dirty explanation of what had happened that fateful day, when the Eaters came calling. “As Fuzz, Captain Young’s War Dog, came to my defense, I heard a voice calling me a fat cow, telling me to get up or die,” Aleks explained. “That voice was you. You had yelled at me so many times I guess I had internalized it. Either that, or you somehow reached across time and space to help me.” She stared him in his eyes. “Well, what was it—a memory, or are you psychic?”
Stalin glanced from Aleks to Torbin. “Majors, I have been accused of being psycho, but never psychic.”
Aleks continued. “Your bayonet training kicked in, and I was able to get a shot into the second Eater, and keep Fuzz from being seriously hurt. So, I am here today to thank you. On behalf of my unborn sons and myself. Thank you, Comrade Senior Training Instructor Stalin.”
Torbin interjected, “I thank you on behalf of her husband, me.”
Stalin did not respond immediately. Then, with an uncharacteristic twinkle in his eye, he spoke. “So, Comrade Major, calling you a fat cow, among other insults that I will not repeat in front of your husband, did you some good. Da?”
“Yes. Just don’t get any ideas to start again, or give my husband here any training in Russian insults. Your training, plus hours of scrapes, cuts and bruises learning cold steel from you, saved me. Without that, the insults would have been much less effective.”
Stalin gazed at Aleks’ prominent belly. “May I be so bold as to feel the young ones kick?”
“Since you helped save them, I do not see why not. Husband? Any problem?”
“No. I don’t think our Senior Training Instructor is trying to cop a feel. If you have no problems, I don’t.”
Aleks opened her parka, pulled up a thick sweater and shirt. Stalin gently placed his large scarred hands on her belly. A few moments later, he gave a rare smile. “They move with strength. They take after their parents, I can tell.” He nodded at Torbin. “You did well to marry a strong Russian woman.”
“Only half Russian,” Aleks interjected.
Stalin shrugged. “Half is enough. That and a Marine who kills Squids with a knife, how can the children be anything but strong and tough.”
Torbin stuck his hand out, and Stalin took it. “Thanks for training my wife. It served her well.” An unusual bond was thus formed between the two men, based on a pregnant woman. But lasting bonds had been based on stranger things.
Stalin turned around and saw that his “F Troop” was well into its second lap.
“No jodies or marching songs?” Aleks asked.
“They have not yet earned the right. I put all my bad eggs into one basket, with a few good ones unlucky enough to be stuck with them. It did not take my men and I very long to weed out the troublemakers, the ones with what you would call ‘attitude’—a lack of knowing when to keep your mouth shut and listen.”
“You are dealing with them personally?” asked Torbin.
Stalin showed a slight smile. “It is better to focus their hate onto one person. And it is better that I can take care of problems in my own way, without making others nervous.”
Torbin grinned. “I can understand that. Just like General Reed and I have said, try not to kill them or maim them. Tough training does no good if your product is deceased.”
“You are correct, Major. Now, I see Captain Young and Major Yamamoto approaching. Which means the other three platoons will be falling in soon with my men.” Stalin saw his platoon rounding the final bend of the second lap, rifles still extended above their heads. He knew some of these people thought they would get a free ride based on their supposed prior experience. Stalin was quickly finding out that a lot of this claimed experience was either exaggerated or outright false.
As they neared him, he shouted another command in his booming voice. “Training Platoon Leader Smith! Form them back up where they started. After that is done correctly, I may let them lower their weapons.” No one dared grumble, even if they could. Some of the older troops looked a bit pale in the face. They soon were lined up, somehow still keeping the rifles suspended above their heads with their fatigued arms and hands. Satisfied, Stalin boomed out again. “Training Platoon Leader, put them at rest.”
The Tsunami Page 54
