ONE STORMY CHRISTMAS EVE

By: Robert M. Blacketer aka ^Writer

It had been a long night and showed no promise of getting any better.

Having the duty watch, especially on Christmaseve, was no one's idea of fun, let me tell you. The duty office and readyroom were deserted, even more so than usual for that time of night. I had tired of watching meaningless TV and jawing with Red Hawk, Lieutenant Bill Cartright, my wing-man and had walked over to the office for a cup of coffee and a change of scenery.

"Long night isn't it Commander Billingsly?" a gruff voice said behind me.

Glancing over my shoulder I saw that Jon Kringle lounging in the corner, coffee mug in hand, a tired, almost worried look on his face. I had known Jon for almost a year now, but I doubt I will ever get used to such a deep voice from such a small body. Jon is a dwarf, a small person if you will, yet different than any dwarf I have ever seen. He is well proportioned throughout, with an albeit slender frame. He wears his hair rather long, it covers his ears, and has the most interesting catlike eyes.

Jon was a permanent fixture around the base, some sort of consultant or something, although none ever got around to saying for just what. He liked to hang out with the pilots and was always on hand for any debriefing, being especially interested in any strange sightings or unexplained occurrences. I figured it must be some sort of hobby or fixation with him.

"Getting that way Jon," I smiled back. Pulling up the flight harness where it had worked over on my shoulder, I eased down into and empty chair. "What keeps you out so late," I asked casually. "Waiting up for Santa Claus?"

He shot me such an intent look of that I almost squirmed in my chair. His eyes had a hardness to them I had never seen there before. A shudder shook his slight frame as he visibly forced himself to relax. Wondering what nerve I had stepped on I hastily changed the subject. I liked Jon and I had no intention of causing him distress.

"Times like this a man almost wishes for a bogie to liven things up," I said lightly.

"Be careful what you wish for Commander," he said sternly. "Especially on a night like this. You just might get it."

As though his words had been prophecy the alert klaxon chose that moment to sound. "Alert! Alert! Pilots man your planes! This is not a drill!"

I was on my feet by reflex and half out the door before I remembered the coffee cup in my hand. Hurriedly setting it on a table I ran across the ready room, scooping my flight helmet up from the rack in passing. I could feel the rumbling vibration as the flight crew rolled back the heavy hanger doors letting in the frigid arctic air, nearly freezing me as I scrambled across the hanger, up the boarding ladder and into the cockpit, and with the help of my crew-chief, strapped in. In two minutes flat from the time the alarm sounded, I was buttoned up in my F-20 Nighthawk. The engines, kept warmed for just such an emergency, fired immediately, and I began rolling out the hanger with Red Hawk on my wing.

We wasted no time, but hit full military emergency power as soon as we cleared the hanger. I was crushed back into the seat by the massive thrust of the powerful engines, the bird going from zero to over three hundred miles an hour in less than six seconds, the ground falling away rapidly beneath my wings. Two seconds into the flight, having barely reached two thousand feet, the gear retracted and the computer locked on an intercept with the bogie's flightpath, as fed to it by the station mainframe. Only then, closing on the bogie at mach 4, did I have time to wonder what we were pursuing or the look of apprehension, no, outright terror, on Jon's face when the alarm sounded.

The whole purpose of our outpost here in the arctic was to serve as a wardagainst unauthorized flights, from whatever source. Although things were quiet between The European Union and The United Americas, there was always the chance of something going sour. Also, and this was a closely guarded secret, the number of unidentified objects in the north polar area had been on the increase in recent years. There had been three alerts the past year, this was my second, but we had never found anything. The object had always faded off the scopes at our approach, disappearing somewhere over the pole.

"Honda, Control," came from the headset.

"Control, Hondo," I responded.

"Bogie accelerating to Mach .8. Bearing 290 true. Range 50 miles."

"Roger control," I responded, wondering why my onboard hadn't picked up the bogie already. I checked the scope, nothing. Easing back on the throttle, I dropped back to mach1, so as not to overshoot the target. He should be coming into visual anytime soon. Still no scope return!

I didn't have to check to know that Red Hawk was on my wing. We had worked together too long for that. I knew he would be right where he was supposed to be.

Dimly ahead, I saw a red glow in the sky. It seemed to grow steadily brighter as we closed with the bogie's location. This was more like it!

"Control, Hondo. I have visual," I reported. The red glow grew steadily brighter as we raced by the bogie, camera's synched to our speed and rolling. Really not much to tell on this pass. Just an impression of being long and narrow. Swinging around, I came up behind it and slowly crept up on it. Taking my time and giving the instruments a good look.

The red glow was definitely at the front, a marker light or something, I thought. In the darkness it was difficult to see, even with the light enhancer built into my visor. As I got closer though, I began to question the veracity of my eyes. Now I know that it is impossible for reindeer to fly, but that is exactly what I saw as I matched course with the object. There were four pairs with a single reindeer out front. The red light seemed to be mounted on his nose!

The reindeer were hitched to what appeared to be some sort of sleigh. It was the occupant of the sleigh that drew my attention, however. The sleigh seemed to be lit by a cold glow all its own, as though it and the occupant were within some sort of force field. He was a rather obese individual dressed in a red suit with shiny black boots. He had a flowing white beard and carried a long black whip in his hand, which he was using to urge the reindeer on.

He turned and looked at me then and my blood froze. It was the eyes, seeming to blaze with a fire of their own that unnerved me. Never had I imagined such eyes. With what was more a sneer than a smile, he shook his finger at me as though I were a naughty boy he had caught at something and raised his whip arm.

More by instinct than reason I took evasive action, slamming the throttle home. A blast of energy erupted under the wing as I rolled away from the sled.

"Control, Hondo," I called, surprised at how calm my voice sounded. "I am under fire. Repeat. I am under fire."

"Jig right," Red Hawk yelled, and I automatically rolled and dived to the right, another energy burst just missing the canopy.   Diving and twisting,   I looped to come up under the sleigh,   flipping the arming switches on my missiles.   Swinging up behind the sleigh, another burst of fire erupted from the whip, and Red Hawk disintegrated in a ball of flame.

At full intercept speed I locked the missile visually and sped two on their way as I raced by.   An energy blast caught one and the sled did a looping twist to avoid the other.   For some reason the missiles were still unable to get a lock on the bogie.   All hell broke loose then, lightning ripping off the port wing,   sending me spinning crazily out of control.

"Mayday! Mayday!" I called. "Hondo Punching out!" I blew the canopy and barely fired the ejection seat before the plane came apart around me.   The helmet protected my face,   but my left arm was badly burned in the flash, in spite of the flight suit.

As I spiraled down under the canopy, the sleigh came back around slowly and seemed to hover as it went slowly by.   I though for a moment he was going to use the whip on me, as he just sat there smiling cruelly.   Suddenly, he gave a start and slashed the reindeer cruelly with his whip shouting, "On Dasher, on Donder, on Cupid and Blitzen."

Straining mightily in the harness, the reindeer gained speed and the sleigh raced away to the North,   the booming echo of their flight giving the only indication of their speed.   As they accelerated northward I heard the roaring growl as a flight of six Skyhawks dashed overhead at full military power.   I wished them luck although I somehow doubted they would catch up with him.

The snow-covered ground rushing up distracted me from any further observation of the action. I dropped my survival pack and then flexed my knees, collapsing and rolling as I collided with the ice.   Working as quickly as possible with my good arm, I clumsily bundled the chute and dragged over the survival. Wrapping the chute around me for protection, I awkwardly unfolded the survival tent and crawled inside. The emergency transponder had automatically triggered and I knew it was only a matter of time before the rescue chopper could get here.   All I had to do was keep from freezing in the meantime.

Two long, cold hours later,   the unmistakable beat of a rescue chopper roused me from a half doze.   Struggling out the tent door, I got wearily to my feet.   Never in my life had I seen anything so beautiful as that chopper.   I took two staggering steps toward it and fell flat on my face.

I next awoke from a most pleasant dream of exquisitely luxurious warmth, to find it was no dream. I was back in the base hospital, and IV line run into my right arm, the left being swathed in gauze.

Jon was sitting on a chair at the foot of the bed, but not the same cheerful Jon I had known. He looked bedraggled and worried.   His clothes looking slept in and his hair in disarray with some odd form of barrette sticking up out of his hair.

Seeing my eyes open he got up and hurried to the bedside. Standing on the floor he was able to look me in the eye as I lay on the bed. "Was it him?" he asked all wildeyed.

"A fat man in a red suit riding in a sleigh pulled by reindeer?" I asked brutally harsh.

He gasped and seemed to shrink in on himself.   Like a wild thing caught in a trap he cast frantically about. "Can't let him find me!" he shouted, and dashed from the room, but not before I got a good enough look to see that 'barrette' for what it was, the tip of a rather elongated and somewhat pointed ear.   The sort that elves are supposed to have.

The End.