The Tsunami

by Marshall Miller

  Aleks smiled. “Thank you, Comrade Stalin. First, however, my sons and I have an appointment with the big beastie there. Come here, Fuzz. Say hello to the new pack members.”

  Abigail had the General “grease it” with the Hospital Commander that a canine would be allowed into a room with two newborns. After the Commander realized which canine was involved, he grinned. “Hell, General, he’s a Sergeant. And a Hero. If he can’t come in, who can?”

  Fuzz had an open mouthed dog grin as he approached Alek’s hospital bed, then his nose began to work a mile a minute as he smelled Gage and Tristan. Torbin took Gage, Aleks held Tristan, and maneuvered the babies so the war dog could greet the two humans he helped to save.

  Fuzz gave a very small lick to the cheek of each newborn, then began to whine a little bit, acted like he was trying to say something.

  “Yes, big fella,” said Abigail. “They are handsome and healthy. And once they are older, you can play with them.”

  Aleks looked at the dog, then handed Tristan to Abigail. “Come here, Fuzz.” The canine went over to Aleks who bent over and hugged him. “Thank you for being you. Thank you for being there to save me and my sons.”

  A tear ran down her face and Fuzz licked it off. He gave the huffing dog laugh that many people cannot recognize as such. But those that do could tell he was happy, contented. He was with human members of his pack who he loved and who loved him. And now there were two puppies (two legged, but pups none the less) to take care of, to protect. That was fine with him.

  Abigail was holding Tristan, beaming. “What a beautiful, I mean handsome, young man you are. You’ll grow up strong like your father.” She glanced over at Aleks. “If you ever need a babysitter, check with me, please. I know Fuzz would just love it.”

  “Don’t worry, little sister. I won’t forget you. After they’re settled in at home, I plan on getting out some. I need to work off this baby fat I have put on.”

  “Well, Major, feel free to come by my training classes if you want a good workout,” Stalin interjected. “But it’s one size fits all, so you’ll have to keep up.”

  Aleks snorted. “I may just take you up on that, Comrade Stalin. As long as you do not start calling me a fat cow among you other choice names.”

  The Training Instructor laughed. “I only use words of endearment and encouragement on those who need it for motivation. I think you are well past that stage. But please, open up your present. I think you might see its usefulness.”

  Aleks cocked an eye, then picked up the wrapped package. It felt a bit heavy, so she knew it was not some bit of jewelry, or knick knack. She tore open the wrapping paper, and found what appeared to be a large pistol case. With practiced hands, she opened it.

  “That, my good Major, is the latest version of the MP443 Grach pistol, with fifty rounds of ammunition. Nine millimeter 7N31 high velocity armor piercing to be exact. I heard three of my former students in spy-craft were assigned here. So I brought some presents they could use, not pretty baubles.”

  An appreciative Aleks picked it up, held it in her hands. “This feels good, balanced. Definitely better than my old but serviceable Makarov. Seventeen round magazine I see.”

  She smiled at Stalin. “I didn’t know you cared about your former students.”

  Stalin shrugged. “We are all in this together. And I know any of my trainees who survived the last six years must be a cut above the norm. So, for the good of Mother Russia, and now our new American friends, I figured it would be a good idea to provide what newer equipment I could obtain.”

  Torbin looked at the pistol with a practiced eye. “We’d call that a right good shootin’ iron around here. I appreciate you wanting to keep my wife well protected and alive.”

  “Major, one does not want to see excellence go to waste due to poor equipment. And, she is Russian. So I feel a bit protective.”

  “Half-Russian,” commented Aleks.

  “Close enough. But the excellence statement stands. I remember you and your two fellow women now that I’ve come here. Comrades Kuzlov and Popov I eventually remembered as being superior intelligence officers and field operatives. As are you. Rough I may seem, but I give credit where credit is due.”

  Aleks looked at her former instructor. As much as she and others had hated him at the time of the training he had put them through, it had served its purpose. All three of them were alive today. And now Aleks was a mother with two beautiful bouncing boys.

  “Here, Comrade Stalin. Take Gage from my husband. Let us get you acquainted with two children who are here in part due to your efforts.”

  The Russian took the newborn from his father, holding him with ease. He let Gage try to grasp his gnarled fingers as he flashed his smile that looked more like a grimace.

  “Already he has a strong, Russian grip. Comrades Putin and Josef Stalin would be proud of these two. In an earlier time, Major, you would have received an award for producing such fine future citizens of the Motherland.”

  “Well, we are in America now. And my husband is a Yankee. So their health is good enough for me.”

  “By the way, what happened to our friend Putin?” Torbin asked.

  Stalin shrugged. “Dead most likely. Moscow was hard hit, as were all our governmental, command, and control centers. The Squids had things pinpointed. So, if you were up in the higher levels of government and were at work the first week, you were most likely targeted.”

  He frowned. “It is sad that some people like a certain worthless Colonel who had his demise here survived. I believe there is a saying in English that the ‘good die young’. In Russia, that seems to apply to the competent.”

  He looked at Torbin, still gently holding Gage. “You did us a favor by getting rid of that one.”

  “Who said I had anything to do with that?” Torbin replied back.

  “Well, not maybe personally. But you helped with, shall we say, creating the necessary environment.”

  “Let’s change the subject to more pleasant matters,” Aleks said. “You will have to come to my sons’ christening and baptism. General Reed said he would insure a Russian Orthodox Ceremony was available. I know you are still Russian Orthodox, Comrade.”

  “Yes. I still have the cross with my ID tags. I would be honored to attend. And I knew my General would be able to arrange such things. It is nice to see that competence survived here in the U.S.A.” Stalin gently gave Gage back to Torbin.

  “Your son is getting hungry, I can tell.”

  “You’ve had experience with babies, have you?”

  Stalin gave a slight smile. “Let us just say I have handled offspring in the past.”

  Aleks snorted. “What Comrade is trying to say is that he was quite the cocksman in the past. You never did get married to anyone, did you?”

  “Aleks, let’s be nice to our guest,” interjected Torbin.

  Stalin gave a short laugh. “Always the blunt Major Smirnov. Can I help it if women want my babies but not me? A husband who is never home, whose claim to fame is violence is not seen as, how you say, a ‘good catch’ in the greater scheme of things. But I help the mothers of my children when they want or need it.”

  Abigail gave Stalin a disapproving look. “But don’t you want to be in your children’s life?”

  “Well, like you, my Lady of Cold Steel, I have a special mission, a calling right now. Maybe in the future, when the Squids are gone or dead, I can try being what you Americans call a ‘house husband’.”

  Aleks laughed at the thought of that. “I hope that happens. I would love to see you in an apron, sweeping the kitchen floor.”

  Stalin smiled, then glanced as his watch. “Well, there is someone else I must visit this fine Christmas morning. So I will take my leave of you. Again, congratulations to you two Majors. And please let me know when the christening is scheduled.”

  “Will do, Comrade Stalin.” Torbin answered.

  Stalin departe as Abigail kept kept fussing over the two newborns. Aleks could tel
l she was beginning to have the urges of motherhood.

  “So, little sister, think you would like one of these trolls of your own?”

  Abigail smiled, then blushed bit. “Someday, when I am no longer needed to fight. And, if I can.”

  “You can, Abigail. You said you could sense that I was carrying twins. Well, I can sense you are fertile. Ignore all that bullshit they fed you in Utah. You had no more exposure to radiation than the rest of us have, thanks to the Squids.”

  “Thanks for your confidence, Aleks. I hope you’re right.”

  “Trust me. I just gave birth to two healthy sons despite the interference of the Squids, and someone trying to kill me with Eaters. Like you Americans say, I am on a roll.”

  The Malmstrom Confinement Center had been expanded so it could double as a Federal jail for persons awaiting trial, including civilians. Since it was on base, it was also more secure than one in the public venue.

  Stalin entered the military side of the facility, and showed his ID and passport. The soldier at the entry control point examined them, looked at Stalin.

  “Who was it you wished to see, Senior Training Instructor Stalin?”

  “A trainee by the name of Jefferson. I helped put her in here. I would like to see how she is doing.”

  “Wait here, please. I need to get the Duty NCO.”

  The young Corporal was confused as Stalin seemed to be a civilian but had some sort of connection with the military chain of command. He could not understand why anyone would want to visit someone on a holiday when they were the one who helped put her there.

  He returned with an E-5 NCO, O’Neil, a big and tall red-headed Irishman with a New York accent. Sgt. O’Neil looked at Stalin with a smirk on his face. “You sure you really want to see her? Her attitude has definitely not improved since you sent her here.”

  Stalin shrugged. “It is Christmas morning, the time when we celebrate the birth of Christ. What better time to show a bit of compassion?”

  “Okay, it’s your funeral. Come through this door and empty your pockets. Nothing goes in, nothing comes out. Understand?”

  Stalin showed a hint of a smile. “Of Course, Sergeant. Whatever you say.”

  Stalin had already pegged the Sergeant as being a bit of a bully, the NCO believing he was wasting his time playing nursemaid to prisoners on Christmas morning.

  Five minutes later, he was in front of the cell holding Jefferson.

  “Porsche Jefferson. Stand up, face the door, show us your hands. You have a visitor.”

  The large black woman stood up as directed. Sgt. O’Neil unlocked the cell door, motioned Stalin in.

  “You have ten minutes.”

  “Thank you, Sergeant.” Stalin entered, heard the cell door close and lock behind him. He then saw why Jefferson had not moved closer. Her right leg was manacled to a solid ring cemented to the floor by her bed. Stalin frowned. Then he noticed her face.

  The bruises were more recent than the ones she had received from the MPs. Her right eye was almost swollen shut, and she had a proverbial fat lip. She glared at him with her one good eye.

  “What the fuck do you want? Come here to gloat?”

  “No. As you are still assigned as a trainee, I am still responsible for you. At least until and if you receive a court-martial and sentence. So, have you been fighting?”

  Jefferson have a short hard laugh. “No, I’ve been getting beaten. Seems the Crackers here don’t like it when you call them Crackers. They can call me whatever they want all day, but if I smart off…well, you see what I gets.”

  Stalin frowned again. “So, you say you are getting beaten due to your race?”

  “Either that, or because I’m a woman.”

  “That makes no sense. Half the new recruits here are female. So many males were lost during the Invasion and harvesting the first year that in the U.S. there is a sixty/forty split between females and males. In Russia, it is seventy/thirty. So, more women will show up for military service. Trying to get rid of them means we have less personnel. That is counterproductive.”

  Jefferson snorted. “I’ll let you figure it out. But I’m getting my ass kicked at least once a day.”

  “What have you been fed?”

  “Gray loaf.”

  “What is that?”

  Jefferson sneered. “Never been in jail, huh? Well, they take your meal, run it through a blender, then pour it a pan and bake it. Comes out gray, usually funny tasting.”

  “Why is that done?”

  “Supposedly if you throw your food, or refuse to eat it. Which I haven’t done. I’m big. I need my food.”

  Stalin stood quietly for a moment. Then he spoke. “I’ll be back.”

  He called out and after a couple of minutes, the Corporal showed up. They walked back to where Sgt. O’Neil was sitting with his feet on the desk.

  “So, done with your visit?”

  “Why do you feel it is necessary to beat a person who cannot escape, and who is not trying to escape?”

  O’Neil did not like to be questioned. Especially by some foreigner. He jumped to his feet. “Look here. This is my facility. I’m in charge. So, Ivan, if you don’t like it, tough shitsky. Go complain to someone who cares.”

  Stalin kept a composed demeanor as he kept looking at the big man. This just irritated the Sergeant more.

  “Are you trying to piss me off, Ivan?”

  “Did I say my name was Ivan?”

  “Oh, a smart ass. Get the fuck out of my facility.”

  “I will leave when I have answers.”

  “Look it, you fucking Commie bastard…” the large man started to come from around the desk, reached out to grab the Russian. And stopped when steel fingers grabbed his adam’s apple and squeezed. The Corporal stepped forward to aid his Sergeant as the big man’s eyes bulged from the pain and having his breathing interrupted.

  “Another step and I crush his throat,” Stalin said calmly. The Corporal froze.

  “I do not like big bullies. Especially those who get pleasure from beating up women, no matter how large the woman is.” O’Neil had several inches in height and a definite weight advantage, but he seemed to be a baby in the hands of the Russian. O’Neil had reflexively grabbed Stalin’s arm when the Training Instructor had grabbed his adam’s apple in an attempt to relieve the pressure and pain. It was like grabbing a bar of steel.

  “Now, I am going to first arrange for a decent Christmas meal for Jefferson, with which no one will interfere. Then, later today, a medic will examine her. All of her injuries will be documented.”

  Stalin pulled O’Neil ever so slightly toward him, causing strangling noises to emanate from the NCO’s open mouth. “Woe betides anyone who causes additional injuries to the young woman. I will make it my personal mission to make the life of such a person a living hell.”

  “And before you start thinking about taking some action against me,” Stalin continued. “Let me explain the reality. I have a diplomatic passport from Russia. The worst you can do to me is to force me back to Russia. My government will not allow the U.S. to punish me, only to send me home, maybe to a gulag. But I have survived a gulag before, and I can do it again.”

  Stalin shoved O’Neil backwards, the large man stumbling over the chair behind the desk. He fell heavily to the floor, lay gagging and choking. Stalin fixed the Corporal with a dead stare.

  “Hey, buddy, I just follow orders.” The Corporal blurted out.

  “Then these are your new orders. Jefferson gets treated like everyone else in confinement. No worse, no better. I will ensure she behaves, and does not require any further physical restraint. If she refuses to abide by your instructions, call me. I will ensure it is the last time she causes you problems. Understand?”

  “Yes Sir.”

  “I am not a Sir, not an Officer. I am Senior Training Instructor Stalin. Repeat that please.”

  “S-S-Senior Training Instructor Stalin,” repeated the Corporal.

  “Good. Now, help yo
ur Sergeant. He may need medical attention. I will now make arrangements for the actions I want done.”

  Stalin telephoned Lt. Ivanovich. Christmas or no, the Lt. quickly located a full holiday meal and had it over to the Confinement Center in record time. As soon as Jefferson had scarfed down the first decent meal she had in days, despite the damage to her face, a female medic appeared. Stalin arranged for an examination in the small infirmary the confinement facility boasted. The young NCO was not happy with what she saw as she completed the examination, made notes, took some photos. She stepped outside to talk to Stalin, the Military Confinement Specialists leaving him alone with the prisoner. Maybe they hoped she would try and escape from just him. No such luck.

  “She is in training status, under you?” She asked Stalin.

  “Yes, Sergeant. But she has resided in this fine establishment since the beginning of the month. I will be contacting General Reed about expediting her return to my training.”

  The Sergeant’s eyes widened a bit. “You can contact General Reed directly?”

  “Yes. He is the one who brought me here, to this base.”

  The Sergeant paused for a moment, mulling something over in her mind.

  “Could you get my findings directly to him, without me getting screwed for jumping the chain of command?”

  “Of course, Sergeant…White your name tag says. If that is what is necessary. But I need some explanation as to why this is necessary.”

  “Well. Senior Training Instructor Stalin. Let’s us just say that some reports concerning the well-being of some females on this base, especially people in confinement, have been sidetracked, lost. When I heard you needed a medic here, I volunteered to come. Most of the hospital staff do not want the headaches associated with ‘problem’ areas.”

  She swept her hand to include the whole confinement facility. “This has a reputation of being one big problem area. An awful lot of injuries are generated post arrest here. But, there is a war on. Or so I’ve been told.”

  Stalin scrutinized the young NCO for a moment. A nondescript twenty-something with light brown hair and glasses. She was about five foot five, medium-build and average-sized, she had a bit of steel in her brown eyes. Stalin decided he liked her.