1126 Tomcat Way Full GM Edit by Author Brian Whitaker
It was one of those days where the sky wouldn’t snow and the sun wouldn’t shine. Dreary grey skies hovered over Gotham Naval Air Station on this chilly December afternoon. Two silent candy cane colored explosions occurred at my front door. The candy cane shrapnel dispersed as two funny looking elves appeared. They were both part of Santa’s Secret Elf detail; black suits, ties, and dark sunglasses.
“Are you sure this is the right place, Ernie?” the lead elf huffed, gazing about the front porch. “I don’t see a snowman with a sign stating ‘Miami or bust.’”
“1126 Tomcat Way, Arnie,” the second elf replied as he pointed to the street number above the red ribbon decorated mailbox.
“Roger that. I expected Wolf’s pad to be more…festive,” the head elf replied as he gazed upon the front door.
“The Lieutenant’s been down lately.”
Arnie turned and frowned, “I can’t take you anywhere Ernie!” He flicked a minuscule piece of candy cane debris, only an elf with his keen eyesight could have seen it.
He huffed and pushed his sunglasses fully against the bridge of his nose. “Let me do the talking.”
Ernie shook his head as Arnie knocked on the door.
My bodacious wife answered the door. She saw no one. She looked in both directions and still saw nothing until she heard something clear its throat, “Down here ma’am.”
“Oh! Sorry! I didn’t see you elves!” Brooke replied.
“Is the lieutenant in, ma’am?” Arnie coldly asked.
“You mean Lieutenant Commander Wolf?”
“The lieutenant finally got promoted, Christmas miracles never cease do they lady?”
Ernie could see my wife’s blue eyes beginning to simmer and quickly stepped in. He removed his dark sunglasses and folded his hands in front of him, “It’s good to see you again Mrs. Wolf.”
Her eyes returned to normal as she brightly smiled, “Ernie! You want to come in? I’ll fix some eggnog for you and Scrooge here.”
The uptight elf pulled his dark shades up to his startled forehead. He blinked, “Mrs. Wolf?!? I didn’t recognize you without your Kevlar helmet, rifle…and skin tight fatigues. My deepest apologies.”
Two weeks ago, Brooke had teamed up with Ernie and Arnie in an effort to save Christmas. A band of evil Grinch pirates wanted to permanently wreck Christmas by unleashing a biological agent on the caribou of Alaska, Santa always picks his finest reindeer recruits from America’s most northern state. Arnie succumbed to the agent only to be resuscitated by a kiss from my reluctant Brit.
My fiery wife let Santa’s top two agent elves in and put on some Bing Crosby. The crooner’s soft voice sang, “Silent Night.” The elves removed their sunglasses as my wife said, “Luv, Arnie and Ernie are here.”
The elves smiled and nodded their heads. They closed their eyes, their nostrils flared as they took a deep breath of the house, “Ah…Frasier Fir.”
I came hobbling out on a pair of crutches. I was curious to ask why they were here; my Santa Cat and Santa Talon days were long behind me. Lieutenant Kara Pike was now in charge of escorting Santa Claus on his yearly Christmas Eve night flight, spreading Christmas cheer and joy to all good little girls and boys. I stood next to the Frasier Fir Christmas tree that was bedecked in nothing but Scooby-Doo ornaments. “Bone spur; docs said to stay off of it until tomorrow,” I casually stated.
“Oh, this is not good. Mr. C. won’t like to hear that the Lieutenant is suffering from an acute case of Missile Toe,” Arnie stated as I sat down on my recliner and elevated my aching foot.
Arnold, Arnie as we called him, was good. He was the best of the best. He could zap a flea off a caribou from 1000 yards out. However, his eggnog glass was always half empty. He was perpetually wound up tighter than a clock spring.
Brooke walked in carrying a tray with the boys’ eggnog and a glass of orange juice for me. “Thank you, love,” I smiled as I took the glass. I took a sip, set the drink down and ignored Arnie. “Ernie, can you give me a sitrep (situation report)?”
“Ryan, it’s the Moose,” Ernie stated. He was the calm cool collected one, even in the harshest, most bitter conditions, North Pole ice swam through his veins. Santa teamed him up with Arnie to form the perfect elf security team.
Moose, the king of the deer family; oh dear, we were in trouble. Big trouble, for this particular Bull Moose would only appear in Alaska if I were around. It especially loved living life dangerously by continually harassing the fiercest ninja on earth: Lady Azul.
“Lieutenant, it ate a bag of magical rancid mistletoe,” a curt Arnie added, “You know anything ‘bout this?”
“Lieutenant Commander,” my lovely wife quickly corrected the anal retentive elf.
“Whatever Mrs. W,” he replied, annoyingly waving his hand. “This is the first time it appeared without you being around. Mr. C. wants to know why -and why it’s trying to impersonate him at the malls, post offices, cookie factories, and the Thanksgiving Day Parade.”
The elf continued to proceed in excruciating length about it. Laborious, step-by-step detail on how the Moose was also intercepting letters and emails sent directly to Mr. C. Then, when we thought he was finished, he gave me the business of the Moose hacking into the computers of the North Pole and NORAD. Mercifully, the long winded Arnie finished, looking at me quite smugly.
I shrugged it off and dryly replied, “Sounds like he’d make a terrific NSA agent.”
Brooke awoke at 0 Dark 30 and took a C-17 Globe Master to Eielson Air Force Base, Alaska. Ernie sat next to her during the entire duration of the rough ride, a C-17 is not known for comfortable amenities. “What’s wrong with Ryan?” the elf asked.
She had her knees bent with her arms wrapped around them. Her blue eyes blankly looked at the other side of the cargo hold, “He’s afraid to go outside. He’s scared that the cold will trigger a trigeminal attack. I tell him to wear a ski cap over his ear…”
“…and he doesn’t.”
“He’s not into Christmas this year. He used to have the house completely decorated, inside and out.”
“That explains why the inside of your house was decorated and not the outside, completely understandable.”
“Yes,” she sighed, her eyes turning misty. “It’s not like he’s trying to be Ebenezer Scrooge this year, luv. I wish I could take his pain away.”
Ernie didn’t say a word; his friendly hug was all Brooke needed.
Meanwhile, I was still lying in bed, allowing my elevated foot to rest. I arose and prepared for my hypersonic flight to North Pole, Alaska; I purposely skipped shaving, didn’t want to inadvertently awaken that insubordinate facial nerve of mine. As I ate my breakfast, I thought about what Arnie and Ernie had said hours before. I was thankful that the Moose didn’t gain the ability to fly and drop moose nuggets (That’s excrement for those of you reading in Port St. Sushi, Florida) on unsuspecting North American cities.
I limped to my F/A-39 Crusader and gingerly climbed the ladder up to the cockpit. Pain shot from my heel up to my poor knee. I grunted a bit, but I carried on. I admit the bone spur was painful, but nowhere compared to a mutinous Trigeminal Attack. I was strapping myself in when the mischievous Cluster walked in. The Chief wore reindeer antlers with dancing red and green lights strung all through the horns in an aimless pattern. He finished it off by wearing a red clown nose. It was worse than wearing a gaudy singing tie to a candle light Christmas Eve service. He stopped at the bottom of the ladder and smirked, “Look, its Pontius…the pilot!”
“Right Book, wrong chapter Rudy,” I retorted dryly, tilting my head.
“You passed Christmas 101 sir!” the Chief smiled and saluted. “Chaplin Molina would like for me to remind you of the candle light Christmas Eve service on Christmas Eve.”
I gave him a thumbs up, “Thank you Chief, I’ll try and make it, duty permitting.”
I heard a Christmas melody playing and suddenly Arnold was standing next to me. He began to brief me on the special ordinances that Christmas elves had armed my bird with. “The MCR-1 Air-to-ground missile, it’s a fire-and-forget missile LTC. It’s a ninja proof wrapping paper, successfully tested on Lady Azul at the VAB (Vehicle Assembly Building) at the Kennedy Space Center. We’ve installed three of them, so use them wisely. Capiche?”
I kept silent, but inwardly cringed. I was present for that little holiday disaster. I simply nodded as he continued, “The GDB-1, it disperses into bite size sticky yummy jelly gum drops. It immobilizes when stepped on.” The elf stopped and examined my flight suit. He pulled off the tiniest red crumb I’d ever scene. “I can’t take you anywhere…”
“I had a red velvet donut for breakfast,” I confessed.
“You sure ‘bout that LTC? Mr. C. is watching,” Arnie reminded me.
“Okay, maybe I had two…” I added.
“Three and a glass of chocolate milk!”
“Fine. Three! But the chocolate milk was LOWFAT!”
“Lowfat? That’s mighty good of you Wolf, downing those three fattening red velvet donuts, your gall bladder will thank you.”
OOO, Arnie knew how to frost my fur. The obnoxious elf was the consummate pro when it came to adding insult to injury, part of his skill. I wasn’t going to argue with him or he might bring up other embarrassing matters. I only wanted to coat my stomach before taking four ibuprofens to keep that stupid trigeminal nerve asleep during the mission. He knew I didn’t have a gall bladder anymore. It was one of the reasons why Santa wanted to meet with me at the VAB on Merritt Island on that Black Friday that turned into Blue Friday, to see if I was up to the challenge.
Arnie fired off one more annoying question, “Did you take any D-3 for your bone spur?”
“Good! It also helps the immune system Lieutenant. Maybe you won’t catch bronchitis..again.” He smiled, removed his hat and gave a curt bow before he disappeared in a candy cane explosion.
The auto pilot was set; I relaxed as my bird sliced through the air at super cruise (MACH 3.5). A solitary bright star caught my attention. It grew brighter as I gazed upon it. My military career flashed before my eyes. 17 successful engagements, most of them classified; Operation Blue Freedom, Libyan and Latbeeria strikes, intergalactic space pirates, autonomous robots from another world and saving the Eielson Air Force Base mess hall from that crazed Bull Moose.
Heh, was that ever a disaster. If that Ivan the Stinky assignment could get any zanier, it did. That jerky moose trampled on all those tasty donuts that they special ordered for me, Ensign Pike-my wingman at the time, and Lady Azul. The second I appeared it stopped its rampaging. It snickered and reared up its hind legs and kicked a blueberry pie into my face. It bounded into the kitchen and disappeared. It all came down to Eielson being Eielson as a noble Amazon princess once told me.
My thoughts were interrupted by radio call, “Wolf 1 …do you copy?!?!?”
“Go ahead Wolf 2.”
“Luv, the moose…it’s found a way to clone itself!” Brooke exclaimed.
“What?!?” my voice raised a few octaves.
“Arnie and Ernie tracked it down to a fruitcake outlet in North Pole, Alaska. It was eating from the rejected bin. It burped and another bull moose appeared next to it. It burped again and again, every time a new moose appeared! The moose army is rampaging North Pole, Alaska. They’re knocking over Santas, kicking the heads off every snowman in town…”
“And making passes at the reindeer,” I retorted.
“How’d you know, luv?”
Silence ensued on my side of the radio for a few seconds, “Um, it must have been the mistletoe.”
Brooke huffed and asked, “How quickly can you be here?”
I pushed a few buttons and threw a couple of switches; my bird closed her forward swept wings and aligned with the forward canards for hypersonic flight. She now resembled a flat acorn and shrieked into hypersonic speed, “MACH 5…be there in 15 minutes.”
A loud Ebenezer Scrooge boom sounded over the Alaskan-Canadian border as my bird slowed to subsonic speeds. The curious sun peeked over the horizon to see what all the fuss was about. Daylight was precious; this part of Alaska experienced maybe four hours a day during December. We had to get the moose as quickly as possible. Arnie and Ernie were elves, immune to the harsh cold, my Brooke was not; even wearing her arctic camouflage BDU (Battle Dress Uniform) she would be turning into a human icicle for Christmas if things weren’t resolved by sunset…which was in 2 hours and 45 minutes.
Plus there was the fact that I didn’t want to spend another abhorrent night at Eielson. I’ve had enough of that place. Oh, I’m sure it’s nice during the summer but I have too many unsettling memories there. I’m convinced that spasmodic moose would play the part of the Christmas spirits and visit me while I’m trying to sleep.
My bird screamed overhead; Arnie, Ernie, and Brooke had the naughty moose cornered in a snowy white field. It took a step back and was trapped. He had stepped on one of the jelly gum drops. He frantically kicked and bucked away in a futile attempt to escape, but that little jelly stayed put. It looked like saving Christmas would be as easy as eating one of Mrs. C’s sugar cookies.
The Crusader sang as she locked onto the anxious moose. I coolly flipped off the safety and calmly pulled the trigger. The fire-and-forget MCR-1 was inbound. The trapped moose saw the smoking missile nearing. He frantically looked around for a way to escape. He suddenly became still as he looked at Brooke. He smiled and gave her a flirty wink.
My wife was taken aback at his action until they both disappeared in a poof of smoke. They reappeared but had changed positions. Brooke was standing upon the sticky gum drop as the missile neared.
“Cease fire, Wolf! Cease fire! The Moose pulled the ol’ switcheroo!” Arnie frantically called on the radio.
Brooke’s blue eyes widen as she saw her impending doom and simply uttered nutmeg’s name in vain. The missile detonated in an explosion of candy canes, silver bells, ginger bread men, and everything good about Christmas, including fruit cake, yeah, fruit cake. The explosion sent Brooke flying like one of Santa’s reindeer as she was being tied into a yule tide present. She bounced once and stirred up a massive snow storm, by the time the snow settled the mischievous mystic Moose had escaped. It was looking like Christmas was going to be harder to save than shopping at a Minneapolis mall on Black Friday.
“Hang on Mrs. Wolf, we’re coming!” Ernie yelled as the two elite elves bounced through the marshmallow world.
Arnie and Ernie rushed over to free Brooke from the ninja proof wrapping paper; the jingle bells on their little shoes chimed out various Christmas carols and songs. The frantic agent vainly tried to escape from her bonds. Her mouth was covered with a sticker that read, “Do not open until December 25.”
I pulled my bird’s nose up and performed the Immelmann turn in the frigid Alaskan sky. The elusive Bull Moose ran as though a F-86 Sabre jet was after him. His cloned minions quickly regrouped with him. They were racing towards the snow covered Santa Claus Lane.
Underneath my oxygen mask I smiled, the Moose had made a serious tactical blunder. His cloned army was stampeding in an open plain, ripe for an aerial attack. I rolled my fighter over and pulled her into a dive, she shrieked as she plunged towards the frozen tundra. I rolled her back over and pulled her out of the dive.
Arnold got on the radio, “Wolf. Pretend the Moose is that Amazon Princess…you can’t miss.”
“Arnie!” Ernie exclaimed, “That wasn’t nice!”
“Wha?” the annoying elf replied. “It’s how the Lieutenant became the Lieutenant Commander.”
I growled for a moment at the inside joke and remembered my military training. I ignored Arnold’s insult and concentrated on that insane jerky Moose so we could save Christmas as well as not spending another night in Eielson Air Force Base. The Talon reacquired the Moose; a blinking green rhombus on my HUD (Head’s Up Display) illuminated him.
I opened the weapon’s bay, the weapon’s carousel popped out. A GDB-1 dispersed, spewing scores upon scores of multicolored sticky jelly gum drops. It was the North Pole turkey shoot, every clone that stepped onto one of the sticky drops was instantaneously turned into an extra-large dark chocolate moose completely wrapped in its own individual festive green and red wrapper; complete with its own lip smacking Bull Moose logo! Lots of good little girls and boys were going to be happy this Christmas.
The Moose was sweating icicles by the time I turned around for the final shot. The precious few moose soldiers he had remaining were rushing over to rescue him, but they were stepping on those gooey gum drops and turning into a woman’s holiday dream. It grabbed its hind leg and gave mighty yanks, but those stubborn gum drops refused to release!
He wailed as he saw another MCR-1 streaking from my Crusader. He continuously wailed as he vainly tried to free himself. He looked up; his eyes were full of the incoming smoking missile. It opened its large mouth and shrieked a pathetic cry. Direct hit, the missile exploded in another merry explosion of everything good about Christmas, including fruitcake.
“Good shooting Commander!” a jubilant Ernie thundered on the radio.
“Way to go, luv!” Brooke shouted.
“Keep that up, Wolf, and you might make Admiral one day…,” Arnie dryly chimed in.
The Moose struggled as the trio knelt down over it. Brooke pulled out a syringe and injected the anti, uh, anti-whatever the content was into the deranged animal. Its eyes were larger than pumpkin pies.
I slowly brought my nimble fighter back to the yule tide fun. I engage the VTOL (Vertical Takeoff Landing) system and brought her into a near hover above the scene. I picked out a spot as to not create a manmade blizzard. The hot exhaust melted the frozen ground, my bird landed in a pool of water. I removed my helmet and put on an US Navy issued ski cap. A magical candy cane ladder appeared after I popped the canopy open. I quickly climbed down the ladder and rushed over to the conquered Moose.
A modified dark grey armored MH-53 landed on the other side of the field. Female commando elves scrambled out from the Pave Low and secured the scene. They wore green Santa hats laced with mistletoe, green blouses and matching green short skirts with fluffy white trim. Their legs were covered with candy cane stripped knee-highs, topped off by black stilettos. I really don’t know how practical those pumps are in these freezing conditions, but Arnie and Ernie weren’t complaining. Their eyes morphed into crimson beating hearts.
Male elves dressed in typical elf attire began to collect the dark chocolate Moose bars for Santa’s Christmas Eve ride under the watchful eyes of the commando elves. Brooke snapped Arnie and Ernie from their ogling as she cleared her throat. “Sorry, Mrs. Wolf, it was the mistletoe!” the blushing elves confessed.
The Moose’s eyes were spinning as the injection purged the rancid mistletoe from its system. The ninja proof wrapping paper magically unwrapped itself and instantly biodegraded into sugarplums. The Moose cautiously stood on its shaky legs a few seconds later.
The grateful Moose decided to give Brooke a big slobbery smooch! Much to her chagrin his big revolting wet tongue gave her a big icky lick. She closed her eyes as the disgusting tongue ran from her chin to her forehead. Ernie quickly handed her a towel, “Thanks luv,” she mumbled and cleaned her fair face of the disgusting moose spittle.
He winked at me and walked over to a snowman that somehow manage to survive the holiday carnage. “Uh oh,” I uttered as he winked at me again.
Without warning the Moose picked up its hind quarters and decapitated that poor snowman. Its head headed right for Arnie’s face. The elite elf’s reflexes weren’t fast enough; the snowball smacked him in the face, knocking him backwards. Arnie started rolling; he rolled and rolled into a rolling snowball. He rolled south onto Alaska Route 2. I snaked my arm around my wife’s slender waist and pulled her into me as I waved at the elves, “That’s what I love about Arnie, always think ahead…” Brooke closed her eyes and giggled. She rested her head against my shoulder. She opened her eyes and continued to giggle. She joined in on my waving as the snowball rolled out of sight.
Ernie waved his arms as he frantically gave chase and followed Arnold. Arnie’s snowball continued to grow and grow with every miniscule snowflake it picked up as it continued south on the Alaskan Highway. Ernie continued to give chase until the titanic snowball came to an elf cranium-shattering halt at a military monument down in Delta Junction.
The amused sun smiled. He put his hand over his mouth, closed his eyes and yawned. He opened them as his smile turned into a sleepy one. He put his nightcap on and ducked below the horizon for his long December night’s sleep.
0200 Hours, 1126 Tomcat Way
Heavy snow was falling. I put Point of Grace on, felt like it was appropriate given the situation. The glowing Christmas tree reflected in the frosty window as I gazed out at the falling snow. I was looking at an answered prayer right between the eyes.
Instead of being full of Christmas cheer, I was sulking in self-pity. I decided to drown my sorrows with an Atlanta Pride’s Cola and a pumpkin donut. I sunk my razor sharp teeth into that tasty little morsel and grimaced.
Yuck. The package may have read ‘pumpkin,’ but that doesn’t mean it’s pumpkinlicious. Ew, I held back the urge to regurgitate and just swallowed the imitation pumpkin. My face was greener than the Grinch. I stood, walked over to the garbage can and unceremoniously dumped the donut.
I took a swig of the cola to banish the taste of that putrid pumpkin product. I pulled out a Kremey King snowman donut I had in reserve for emergency purposes just like this. I consider it humane to put those sinfully delicious things out of their misery by biting their heads off first. Elsa and Anna wouldn’t be happy, yeah, I know, but I did it.
I closed my eyes as I savored the taste of that scrumptious donut. I opened them and nearly spewed again; Father Christmas himself was standing in front of me. “Santa!” I exclaimed with bits and pieces of sugar and fat jumping out of my stuffed mouth. I put poor Frosty down, “What are you doing here?”
He put his finger to his lips, “Shh, you’ll awake your lass.”
I politely finished chewing the piece of donut in my mouth, swallowed, and nodded my head. “What are you doing here? You’re supposed to be getting ready for your Christmas Eve flight,” I whispered.
“You,” he curtly answered.
“Me?” I answered putting my head back.
He told me to sit and I did as the peaceful snow continued to fall. The topic of me being not so jolly on this jolliest of holidays. We debated for what seemed like hours until he brought our discussion to a near halt, “You’re not the only one with Trigeminal Neuralgia.”
“True, but…,” I countered in vain hopes that my pain frazzled mind could come up with a suitable answer.
“But what?” he asked.
The awkward silence was deafening as I futilely searched for words.
“You’re one of the few that can take over-the-counter medications to relieve a trigeminal attack. Cold doesn’t affect your nerve as it does others,” he whispered, leaning over, “Stop existing and start living, while you can, lad.”
Somewhere in my head a light went on, more like a blinding light house beacon. I finished off my early morning snack. I pulled out a bottle of ibuprofen. I took one 800 mg pill and downed it with that Atlanta’s Pride soda. I stood at attention and snapped Saint Nick a salute. I dropped it and rushed over to the closet by the front door. I pulled out my Dolphin jacket; Brooke lets me wear it now since they’re playing somewhat better. I put it on along with a teal ski cap. I situated the cap so it would cover my left ear…protecting my mutinous trigeminal nerve.
I rushed out the door into the tranquil snowstorm. Jolly Ol’ Saint Nick threw his head back. The rotund Kringle held his jelly belly as he burst out in boisterous merry glee, “HO! HO! HO!”
I made a snowball and went bowling. I rolled it, it grew larger, and within two minutes I had the bottom piece of a snowman. I looked around and saw no trace of the track I had made. I shrugged it off as Christmas magic and went onto make his midsection. I was about to put his head in place when the door burst wide open. Brooke charged out of the house and promptly tackle glomped me into the fluffy white snow. The snow was cold, but I didn’t feel it I was totally lost in the moment. We stared into each other’s eyes for a while and then broke out into giggle as we rubbed our noses.
“Merry Christmas, luv,” she cooed.
“Merry Christmas, love,” I answered.
She gave me a kiss that nearly melted the snowman. Santa was looking out the front window. “HO! HO!...OH!” he exclaimed as his plump cheeks showed a hint of red. He hastily closed the curtains, turned around, and clapped his hands. He walked over to the chimney and simply placed his finger on his nose. Quickly the nimble fat man flew up the chimney and settled on top of the roof.
A gleeful Santa grabbed the reins of his sleigh and took his seat in his sleek red sleigh. Carol of the Bells boomed; he looked down and pulled out his phone. He tapped it and heartedly laughed at the image. Brooke had sent him a selfie of us in the snow.
A beast grunted. Santa looked up, “Settle down boy, I’ll show you.” He turned the phone around so the Moose could see it. It closed its eyes, flashed its pearly whites, and snickered.
“Oh, that reminds me,” Santa said and picked up a red bag. “Brooke told me to give you one of these.” The jolly elf pulled out a red apple, and the Moose licked his lips. He tossed it; the Moose caught it and ate the treat. “She’s very thankful to you for helping to get Ryan into the Christmas spirit.”
The Moose grunted again.
“Humbug big boy! Arnie’s not mad; he knows you were following the script. He’s a tough little elf. He’ll be back up and annoying other elves by Christmas. He just won’t be singing, ‘We are Santa Elves’ off key this year. Thank the Good Lord.”
Some dark clouds rolled away, revealing a dazzling white star with a tail as big as a C-5A Galaxy. It shined brightly upon Gotham Naval Air Station. Seconds later, the wintry clouds covered the star once again, and the gentle snowstorm continued.
The snow was still falling as Brooke stirred. She turned over and saw that I was sleeping peacefully. She smiled, kissed my forehead, and rolled out of bed. She put on some soft Christmas music as she brewed herself a cup of pumpkin spice coffee. She took the last pumpkin donut and set it on a plate next to her laptop. She fired it up and logged onto her My Face account so she could get an update on Arnie’s condition. She smiled as she took a sip of piping hot caffeine; the selfie she took of us had gone viral.
She laughed as she read some of the comments. She liked a half dozen or more and typed a couple of replies. Brooke picked up the pumpkin donut and quickly gagged at the taste. She stuck out her tongue, set the repulsive donut down, and pushed it away as she commented, “I’m not buying that rubbish again.”
The phone rang; Brooke quickly answered it as not to disturb my deep slumber. She pulled her ginger locks from her ear and put the phone to it, “Good morning Colonel! Operation: Moose was a rousing success!”
“Excellent, Brooke! Excellent! How is he?” Colonel Rogers asked.
“He’s sleeping. I’ll wake him up in a few hours and we’ll meet at the El Taco Loco for Crusader Squadron’s Christmas party.”
“I can’t tell you how much we’ve been praying for the boy. You’ve been a great influence on him.”
My wife’s fiery cheeks nearly matched her hair, “Thank you sir.”
“No. thank you, Brooke,” America’s favorite son corrected.
Two hours later she awoke me with a tender kiss, “Luv, its 10 o’clock.”
I opened my eyes and smiled warmly for two reasons. One awakening to the sight of my beautiful wife; the other awakening pain free; I cannot tell you enough how wonderful it is to be pain free. Never take that for granted.
Other Short Stories by Brian Whitaker
Cherokee Hat Trick
Shakespeare My TN Buddy
Having a Good Time-TN Version
1126 Tomcat Way Full GM Edit
Cherokee Hat Trick
Shakespeare My TN Buddy
Having a Good Time-TN Version
1126 Tomcat Way Full GM Edit