Do You Know What I Know: a Holiday Timeline

Livingston Baubler had escaped with enough punch cards, at least he thought. There ought to be somebody interesting in these records, both in the US and in the Soviet Union.

They had retreated to the wastelands outside of the main settlement on the North Pole via an unmarked, covered sleigh, and regrouped with some of his followers.

His followers were quite legion, really. A lot of the North Pole Defense Forces was disillusioned with the continued service of anti-religious regimes.

They agreed that the Red Menace had to be dealt with.

These elves, in the chaos of the explosions and the siege of the Stocking, had made off with a few sleighs. But these were not just sleighs.

They were, in the parlance of the NPDF, troughs. Taken from the reindeer feeding bins, their munitions were those of human tanks, and with the cannons to match. The reindeer needed special hearing protection and body armor, and they pulled the massive armored contraption, still on blades, into battle.

There were six of them, as well as the machine guns and mortars and military-grade rifles that they had plenty of.

The surrendering elves were at their core a diversion. Santa Claus was away from his compound, and so the time to strike was now.

"Elves! Loyal Elves!" he called out. The general muttering ceased.

"We stand here today to restore our birthright. We stand here today to take back what is rightfully ours, and to oppose the forces that attempt to render us obsolete.

To replace us.

So long as Bolshevism continues to exist, the world will leave its spirituality and go towards ways of celebration that make our time-honored purpose nothing more than a hackneyed memory of childhood nevermore to be undertaken. The secularists the world over want us to become obsolete.

So I say to them: you will not replace us.

Claus' own sense of misplaced compassion is why we did not destroy the Soviet Union. At least the Nazis professed a faith, as impure as it was.

Over yonder is where the traitor Santa Claus keeps his computer. We need to secure that computer to decapitate our enemies.

The reason why we give coal to naughty children is that it is not fun, but it was necessary in the age of coal-burned fire. Now, in this current age, the tradition remains, for it is that, tradition.

Now, what we are about to do is to give coal to millions of people, for their naughtiness in allowing the menace of Bolshevism and secularism cannot go unpunished.

Now, we march. Why?

Because they will not replace us!"

The crowd of elves cheered, and got in formation. With Poleman behind him, Baubler began to lead his march. The troughs formed a line.

Soon enough they reached Claus' compound. It was walled; that's why they brought the cannons.

Six blasts, all within five seconds of each other, fired off from the troughs.

The wall came tumbling down.

If they were to be replaced, they would not be easily.

  It sounds like their breaking into the compound but the repeated references to 'had to be replaced' makes me wonder if their actually breaking out.  Basically a kind of armed strike, refusing to help Santa any more?  Suspect they are attacking but not totally clear to me.

Wonder if the rebels will face Claus himself in a epic showdown.

That is interesting, the real world knows about the Elves and Santa Claus.

Ralph Parker had never been tied up. Or gagged, for that matter. There was a first time for everything, he supposed.

The hapless mayor of Hohman was awaiting his inevitable execution, or maybe being saved. Being saved would be very nice, but alas that did not appear to be happening.

He could hear gunfire outside. He wondered if they'd get to him in time.

He saw the man who appeared to be their ringleader walking through the hallway his office opened into, flanked by two others. He began screaming, or what he could do through the gag.

The ringleader looked. One of his henchmen asked him "what should we do with him, Farkus?"

Farkus was perturbed. "Don't say my name in front of the captives!" he yelled.

Parker knew that name. He had thought that the ringleader sounded familiar. He tried to make the words "Scut Farkus" through his his gag.

Farkus glared at him. "Okay, you two, come with me." They followed.

He had his men untie Parker. "So you know who I am. I knew who you are as soon as I saw the campaign posters."

The gagged was pulled off. "Scott - or should I say, 'Scut,' Farkus, how did I know you'd be a communist in your older years?"

"Not exactly a communist, but for you it doesn't matter. You're the man who ruined my life!"

"Really?" asked Parker. "What made you think that one well-deserved retaliatory beating ruined your life?

Farkus began to breath heavily. "It fucked me over for life. You destroyed my ability to mentally function. You destroyed my social life, which destroyed my school life, which destroyed everything else. I couldn't get into Harvard like you. Hell, I couldn't even get into a state school!"

"Stop projecting, Farkus. We both know that broader issues are at play here."

"No! Let's reenact that fight. I'll show you who is boss here in Hohman! Dill! Schwartz! Stay back! Let me at him!"

He took his gun and threw it to the wall, where it lay. He lunged at the mayor.

The Mayor was almost pleased. As a child he had fantasized of being a frontier ranger, fighting bandits and Indians and who have you. This was the best he could do.

He did know however that this fight could be over quickly. As Farkus pummeled him, he kicked up with his knee, throwing the latter man back. He made a run for Farkus' rifle in the meantime.

Farkus ran at him. Parker knocked Farkus in the chest with the butt of the rifle, and then ducked. He already saw Dill and Schwartz raising their guns.

With Farkus down, he raised the rifle, still ducking. "It's clear to me you're not going to learn any lesson. Soap in your mouth would be far too harsh."

He raised the rifle and shot Farkus in the stomach. He'd probably survive for a bit longer, so he could be turned over to the police.

Like the serials he used to watch as a child he knelt as he put the gun over the desk, using it as cover. The bullets from Dill and Schwartz buzzed by him.

He aimed, missing several, but ultimately hitting them in the chest or stomach.

They screamed. He knew that the others must be coming, so he slammed the door shut, locked it, and pushed some bookcases in front of it.

He wasn't the Red Rider, he thought, but it was something.

The plan was going as was intended, thought Gerald Giftbearer. The occupation in Hohman was going well enough.

And Hohman was the perfect town to besiege. It was close enough to a big city for the elites to care about, but not enough for the US armed forces to be there so quickly. There was no military presence at all in Hohman. So Giftbearer kept to his place in Lake County and waited.

“Giftbearer! Giftbearer!” spewed from the radio.

It was Baubler. “What the hell do you need? You’re clearly in trouble.” Giftbearer responded.

“Damn it, Berlin and Moscow have failed. I am currently in a sleigh bound for your location with as many loyalists as I could muster. I would reckon that Claus is behind me. Make sure everything you have is brought to the Hohman City Hall to help our allies there.”

“But why? The nukes aren’t flying. Why would they be flying? We haven’t started a war yet!”

“We still can. Might have to take the North Pole down, but it would be better than letting Bolshevism survive.”

Giftbearer paused. “Are you mad?”

Baubler was incensed. Why was his loyal agent questioning him?

Poleman, who was also on the sleigh, looked at him. So were the rest of his men.

“Certainly somebody would keep the tradition alive,” he said, deflectingly. “Even then, why would they target the North Pole?”

They all looked away. The rest of the ride was silent.

Until they came up to Hohman. The sirens were blaring, and the police cars were taking up the majority of that stretch of Shepherd Street.

There was also gunfire. Before contacting Giftbearer, he had told the occupiers of the police station to attack the police. They were there admirably, firing off the machine guns and rockets they were given.

But there were also tanks. The Indiana National Guard had deployed, and had brought in the big guns.

Baubler inhaled, and deeply.

“Brothers!” he proclaimed. The elves on the sleigh looked at him.

“I have doubts we will be victorious. If that is the case, let this be our Thermopylae. Let this day be when the world beheld the last stand of Elfdom and Christendom. It will be the last stand of those who wish the rising tide of secularization would finally withdraw to the depths in which it belongs. Now, my brethren! We will live in death!”

He was hoping for applause. His compatriots only gave him a somewhat exhausted look. He cursed them in his own mind.

There were several machine guns on the sleigh. He grabbed one of them and began firing on the police, and on anyone who may be within the path of the bullets.

It felt good. Perhaps too good. But here he was, fighting and dying for his people. For his tradition.

But was that worth it?

Of course it was worth it, he mentally told himself. The guns kept firing.

And then he saw the jet fighters coming in.

“Baubler, you idiot! They can see us! They will shoot us down!”

“That does not matter! You will land when I tell you to land, and only when I tell you to land!”

As if on cue the sleigh lunged downwards, avoiding fire from the jets.

“I am not having any more of this, Baubler. I am landing on the roof of the city hall. I am done with your theatrics.”

“No! NO! Keep flying! Keep flying!”

The pilot did no such thing. He maneuvered, dodging bullet after bullet.

One of the other elves was hit by one of the bullets put out by American fighters, and fell down to the ground limply.

It didn’t register with Baubler.

They landed on the roof. Baubler was screaming.

“Oh, to hell with the rest of you!” He grabbed his gun, and reloaded just to be sure. He’d fired some of his bullets when escaping Claus’ compound.

He found a door to the inside of the building and was mentally preparing himself to die. He found some degree of excitement in being able to go down in a blaze of glory.

He expected to find his allies, the masked white supremacists, to support him. He only found corpses, dressed in all black, lying on the floor.

There were several.

“Farkus! Anyone? Are you there?”

From one of the side rooms stepped a man. Not one of his.

He was in a suit. He was brandishing a gun, and had several more on his belt. He also had a machine gun slung over his arm.

“Who the hell are you?” asked Baubler, in whatever English he could muster.

“Ralph Parker. Mayor of the City of Hohman. And you?” Parker brandished the gun.

“I’m the elf that orchestrated this whole thing.”

“Give me one reason not to kill you.”

Big mistake. It dawned upon Baubler that admitting he was the ringleader of this whole thing was a big mistake.

“Because he must face justice at home,” came a voice behind him.

Santa Claus with an armed escort stood right behind him, guns aimed at him.

“Now would you care to explain to me why a man dressed as Santa Claus would be here?”

“I doubt you believe me. I doubt you even believe I exist. I just know that when you were eight years old you wanted a Red Ryder carbine-action, two hundred shot Range Model air rifle with a compass in the stock and a thing which tells time for Christmas.”

Parker stood in stunned silence.

“How?”

“I just know. And with those guns I see all around you? You’ll shoot your eye out, sir!”

Parker just shook his head. “He’s still a threat, and so are the Commies.”

Claus peered right into Baubler’s eyes. “You have one reason to tell me why I should not have you in chains this instant.”

“Oh, so you plan to spare me?” asked Baubler. “What I wanted to do was to send the world’s nuclear bombs at each other. Why, you may ask? To punish secularism. To promote Christmas. To save Christmas. To save ourselves and our livelihoods. And to punish those who let it happen.”

There was silence.

“I knew you had doubts about our war against the Nazis, but this is another level, Baubler. This is ridiculous! We were never going to go along with Unthinkable! And here you are, trying to start a war. A war that would kill millions, and indeed likely ourselves.”

He paused.

“Surrender, Baubler, and you will be tried. You will live. I cannot say that it will be pleasant, but you will live. You will stand trial, and probably be found guilty of treason, murder, and several other crimes.”

“No!” screamed Baubler. “I will not be replaced! I will not surrender!”

He brandished his gun and turned around, and fired several shots.

It was a blur. He fired. They fired. Parker fired.

And then he could fire no more.

There would be no trial. He would not go to prison.

But he was right about one thing. Santa Claus had no intention of replacing him.