Christmas Day on Cabot's Landing

The Bells on Christmas Day
by
Max Griffin

A story about the last days on Cabot's Landing at the start of the Great Disintegration.

         

         A crisp, salty wind gusted from the Eternal Ocean and prickled Lance Corporal Sacha Tarski’s cheeks.  He clenched his shivering torso while sullen anger gripped his belly.  Orders.  What kind of fool abandoned a marine base to a Lance Corporal and six raw recruits?

         Greenish surf foamed on the sandy beaches at the bottom of the cliff where he stood.  The gas giant Kennebec peeked over the horizon, but still dominated a third of the sky.  Sacha’s lips turned down. Cabot’s Landing was just a damned moon, not even a real planet. 

         The Grand Alliance troop ship Defiance left a gossamer vapor trail across the ribbed face of Kennebec.  Sacha scowled.  The Admiral on Defiance was exactly the kind of fool to put Sacha in charge of an empty base on a soon-to-be-useless moon.  Dammit, Sacha belonged with his fellow marines heading to battle  with the rebels, not on this god-forsaken pile of rocks.

         Duty stiffened his spine while he contemplated the endless ocean. For better or worse, Athos Base was his responsibility now.  He and the half dozen marines in his squad were all that remained of the Grand Alliance garrison. The rest of base’s two thousand marines were aboard the Defiance headed who-knew-where. 

         Still, Sacha always did his duty.  Time to get to it.

         A couple centimeters of snow still crusted the streets of Athos Base.  No reason to shovel the white crap.  No reason, really, to be outside at all.  They could just hole up in their barracks and use the connecting tunnels to access the mess hall, or whatever. The departing garrison had left behind an entire year’s worth  of their rations and other supplies.  Sacha and his team could survive for several lifetimes on that, not that he expected they’d need to. The Admiral had promised a relief garrison within ninety standard days, but it wasn't like Sacha believed anything that sack of garbage said.

         At least the barracks would be warm. 

         When he entered, Private Kowalski shouted in a clear soprano.  “Corporal on Deck.”  She quivered at attention outside her stateroom. 

         Sacha didn’t roll his eyes. Recruits. Ya gotta love ‘em.  “Carry on, Private.” 

         This time, she didn’t quite shout. “Sir, yes sir!”

         The sideways way she slipped into her rooms made Sacha pause. it was like she was trying hide something.  “What are you doing this evening, Private?”

         “Sir, we had no orders so the Private was organizing her quarters.”

         He smiled. “Making them shipshape, I suppose.”  Inside, light glinted off the foil packs of Meals-Ready-to-Eat that hung from what looked like a coat rack.  He frowned.  Green packs of Meals-Ready-to-Eat. All one color. “What are you making, Private?”

         She turned crimson and stared straight ahead, avoiding his gaze.  “Sir, the private was making a tree.”

         A tree.  What the devil was she talking about?  “A tree?  Out of packs of rations?”

         “Not a real tree, sir. Just something to remind me of the season.”

         “Relax, Private.” What was her first name?  Marushka.  That was it.  “We’re going to be together for quite a while, Marushka.  You may address me as Sacha when we’re not on duty.”

         “Yes, sir.  Thank you, sir.” 

         This time he didn’t resist the temptation to roll his eyes.  “Sasha, Marushka. Call me Sacha. Now, tell me about this tree.”

         “Well, sir.  I mean, Sacha.  It’s Christmas Eve.”

         He frowned. As if that explained anything.  “Oh? What’s that?”

         “Why, tomorrow is the day of our Savior’s birth.  You know. It's a Christmas tree.”

         Memory clicked then.  His great-grandmother had been raised on Earth and had brought many superstitions with her to Nowa Polska.  “Ah, yes.  My granny great told us about that. She used to bake treats for us and give us gifts.”

         “We used to exchange gifts, too.”  She lowered her gaze.  “I found cookies in the rations.  I was going to leave some out for Santa.”

         Santa. Chaos knew who that was supposed to be.  “Keeping the old traditions alive, eh?  Good for you.”

         She began to murmur a song, something about hearing the bells on Christmas day. “Their old, familiar carols play...”

         A claxon clanged, and then the precise voice of the Base AI, Hal, droned from the overhead speakers.  “The Defiance relayed a message before jumping.  An asteroid has struck Earth.  Fleet intelligence has concluded the rebel alliance is responsible.”

         Marushka crooned on, louder now, with a quiver now, “and wild and sweet, the words repeat...”

         Fear and anger clenched Sacha’s chest. An asteroid strike meant a mass extinction event.  Like the dinosaur killer.  Revenge boiled in his heart.

         A tear trickled down Marushka’s cheek as she finished, “Of peace on earth, good will to men!”