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CHRISTMAS 2056
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In the remote northern wilderness of British Columbia, years after the nuclear holocaust of The Great Holy War, a ragged platoon of Amer-Canadian troops comes face to face with a desperate band of Islamic warriors with refugee women and children...on Christmas Day, 2056.
of TheColumnists.com
Derek Palmer watched the small troop of "Mohama-danskis" gathering along the ridge that dropped sharply into the wooded valley where his own people had been camped for nearly a month. There were maybe 25 of them altogether, pretty certainly from the Russian-dominated Muslim territories by the way they were uniformed. He scanned them carefully with his field glasses and decided the men were poorly armed with maybe only a dozen or so rifles, no heavy machine guns and just one RPG rocket launcher.
"Christ, they're a sorry lot," he said aloud and Pfc. Terri Hall, who was on sentry duty with him, nodded her head in agreement.
"Look at the women and kids,"
she said. "They're beyond sorry."
That was for sure. The women wore ripped and filthy chuddars,
the large cloths they wrapped around themselves like shawls,
and were mostly barefoot or wearing sandals. The children looked
sick and starved and they dragged behind their mothers like beaten
dogs.
"You don't think they mean to attack, do you?" she asked. "I wonder if they even know we're down here."
"No, I don't think they're going to do anything that aggressive," Derek replied. "It's just an hour after dawn and they wouldn't line up like that on a ridge with the sun behind them if they were trying to sneak up on us. No, I think they're scavengers and I'm pretty sure they've been watching us for a few days, just waiting for the chance to pick up what they can when we pull out."
It had been nearly a year since Derek and Terri's unit had engaged the enemy. They were the remains of a platoon from the combined American-Canadian North American defense forces. They were bivouaced in the far north of what had once been the Canadian province of British Columbia and the only enemy units they'd seen were ragtail bands of Muslim soldiers and their dependents who, thanks to global warming, had come across what used to be the Bering Straits, repeating a migration of east to west that many of the old scholars believed had originally brought humans to North America.
These leftover Jihad warriors from the Great Holy War were just doing what everybody else was doing these days--trying to find something clean to eat or drink, hopefully in a place where they wouldn't be bothered by radiation sickness or enemy guns. The nuclear "shootout" between the Islamic Federation and the U.S. Allied Forces had been swift and devastating. The nations of the Middle East had been virtually wiped off the face of the Earth, along with their petroleum wealth. Likewise, nearly all the major cities of Europe and North America were now just piles of poisonous cinders. Global communications were shattered and little dependably accurate news came to survivors on either side, but the assumption among the military unit Derek and Terri were aligned with was that the Muslim Holy War had failed and the surviving Muslims were being hunted down and killed all over the planet by anybody with any remaining firepower.
"If they don't make any hostile moves," said Derek, "we'll probably just leave them to die on their own. The Major won't want to use up any ammo on them unless they force him to. It won't be a humanitarian gesture either. It's just being practical. When our guns run out of bullets, there'll be no more."
They reported in to the command post on what they'd observed so far. The enemy soldiers hadn't advanced beyond the ridge and, as Derek had predicted, word came back to just eyeball them and chart their movements. If they were nothing but a scavenger band, they'd soon realize Major Talbot's unit wasn't going anywhere real soon. The CanadAmericans were getting by mainly on fish pulled up from holes cut in the ice near the edge of the nearby sea--and, so far, there seemed to be a plentiful supply. The small cedar forest where they were camped was devoid of any small game or game birds. But it provided welcome shelter from the icy winds now blowing through the northwest. There was nothing to scavenge--and probably wouldn't be in the future. Nobody wasted anything these days.
"Look at that," Terri suddenly exclaimed, poking Derek with an elbow. "It looks like they've spotted us and want to parley."
Sure enough. A worn, grizzled man in a shabby overcoat was waving a white flag at their sentry position. Derek got on the radio and asked what to do. The command center radioed back: "Approach them carefully. Be wary of explosives. Hear them out and report back."
Derek signalled the man holding the flag by waving his hand back and forth. Then he stood up and stepped into full view of the enemy soldiers.
"Cover me," he said and began to stride toward the ridge as the flag-waver slipped and slid down the slope to meet him.
Terri watched the ridge for possible snipers, but saw no weapons pointed their way. The descending man had put down his gun and appeared unarmed. She didn't expect the man to be a suicide bomber. The Muslims could be fanatics, but they seldom wasted a life just to take out one man. Derek walked boldly toward the descending man.
Up close, the Muslim soldier looked tired and wan, but his lightly bearded face showed no sign of fear. The two men came to a halt and each nodded toward the other as a sign they could begin talking.
"Our women and children are starving," the Muslim said, speaking clear English with confidence. He didn't appear to be an officer, so Derek assumed he'd been sent over the ridge just for his ability to communicate. "We have no reason to fight you. The killing should stop. We have lost everything but each other."
Derek smiled. That was exactly how he and Terri Hall felt about things, too. If both sides knew their respective worlds were gone, what was the point of fighting on? Wasn't it time to just concentrate on surviving what the war had brought down on them all--possibly the death of the entire planet? And yet he'd seen Muslim fanatics willingly kill themselves with explosives just to wreak some kind of vengeance on the enemy. How did he know that wasn't the plan of this little Muslim band.
"We have nothing we can give you," Derek said. "What could you offer us but more mouths to feed?"
"We have a wagonload of rice,"
said The Muslim. "You're welcome to it. You could easily
kill us all and take it anyway. But if you have milk or eggs
or some other protein source, you could save many innocent lives.
We need food, but, more than that, we seek peace between us.
Our people need to rest and recover our strength. Then perhaps
we will be of help to your people in our collective struggle
to survive."
Derek stared at the man. He was too articulate to be a routine
foot soldier. He could tell the fellow was intelligent, probably
an educated man in his early forties, pressed into combat duty
by his government, possibly without any real gut instinct for
war. His instincts told him the man was honest. He must know
his people would be searched for weapons and explosives before
they'd be brought anywhere near the Amer-Canadian camp. If the
rice were poisoned, that would be discovered before any soldiers
ate it. But he also knew his side's command policies about such
things customarily were ruthless: Kill them all and we'll be
sure of no surprises. That's what he was sure he'd be told when
he radioed in the request for peace and mercy.
"I'll talk to the officers," Derek told the man. "What is your name and rank?"
"My name is Rasheed Dubrova," said the man. "We have given up our military ranks and consider ourselves ordinary citizens now, but before that I was of the rank you would call corporal."
Derek stayed with the man another few minutes, getting from him the exact number of the Muslim band, where they'd last seen action, how many weapons they had and other pertinent things Major Talbot would need to know. Then he extended his hand to The Muslim, who took it in his own and shook it.
"Happy Christmas," the man said to Derek, who looked stunned. He'd forgotten all about things like Christmas. The Muslim was right. It was Christmas Day, 2056. What a bizarre comment, Derek thought, from a man whose religion denied the Jesus Christ story in every respect. Hadn't their worlds just destroyed each other over religious differences unsettled over thousands of years?
They smiled at each other, then went back to their previous positions. Derek radioed The Major and gave him the message, adding that he believed the man was sincere and his little band represented no threat.
"I'll get back to you right away," Major Talbot replied.
Major Stanford Talbot didn't come up with the snap decision Derek expected. He knew what his orders would be if he was in contact with the war office, but, for all he knew, there no longer was a war office. He had been visiting the northern defensive units when war broke out and was stranded with this platoon when the nuclear missiles started falling. When the platoon's own leaders had been killed in the first combat exchanges, he assumed command--and had no further contact with the war office since. He felt his small unit was now on its own--and had been for more than a year. He could do whatever the hell he wanted to do--and he wanted to do the right thing for a change.
Could these Muslims be brought into their camp and not provoke acts of violence? He doubted it. But unless the North Americans wanted to exterminate every Muslim on Earth, they were going to have to learn to live in peace with those who had survived the nuclear holocaust. Talbot had no idea how many people had lived through the bombings and the outlawry that no doubt had broken out among armed survivors, but he felt certain it was time to start finding out and to start preserving human life if the species was going to survive its own suicidal impulses.
So, he got Derek back on the radio and told him, "Bring 'em in, but warn them we're going to search them all, even the women and kids."
Derek walked back up the slope and signalled to the enemy group. A few minutes later, the same man, Rasheed, scrambled down to meet him.
"We'll take you in now," Derek
said, "but you'll all be body-searched, one by one. Out
of respect for your women, we'll have them searched by our female
combatants. You'll have to turn over your weapons before you
can enter the camp."
"Of course," said Rasheed. "I thank you for minimizing
the shame to our women. But do you think your people will accept
us peacefully?"
Derek looked Rasheed long in the eye and finally said, "All of us, on both sides, will have reasons to hate each other for the rest of our lives. I lost my wife and children in the first atomic attack. I'm sure you have lost family of your own. But I didn't ask for this war and I doubt if you did either. If we don't try to forgive each other, I doubt if our human race will survive much longer."
"May Allah bless you," said Rasheed, gently placing one hand on Derek's shoulder. "This is how I feel, too--and I think most of our band shares such thoughts. We are sick of the hatred that led us to this point in human history."
There turned out to be 29 in the Muslim band. Most of the 14 male "soldiers" were men in their 40s or older. The women and children were mostly not related to the fighting men, but were refugees picked up by the band as it marched toward North America, using rafts to cross the remaining bodies of water, but principally walking over rugged land exposed by the retreat of glacial ice. A security station was set up remote from the Amer-Canadian camp and they all were searched. No hidden weapons or explosives were discovered. Once through the security checkpoint, they were all given medical examinations and finally were ushered into a tent where tables had been set up to feed them. The whole process went on without hostile incidents and the hungry marchers seemed deeply grateful for the simple fare--fish soup and rice. They all had been fed by noon and given tents to erect as temporary housing.
When Derek and Pvt. Hall had finished their report to The Major, Derek added a personal thought. "Their envoy wished me a merry Christmas, Major," he said. "We pay so little attention to such things anymore that I'd forgotten this was Christmas Day--and yet a Muslim was the one who reminded me."
"That is strange," said The Major. "As a matter of fact I was just wondering if it would be an insult to them to see us observing a religious holiday. I had planned to bring our people together this evening for a special dinner and some kind of holiday observance. What do you think?"
When Derek didn't immediately reply, Private Hall spoke up: "We have Jews and atheists in our outfit, Major, and they've never objected to a Christmas celebration, as long as we don't make it too 'churchy,' if you know what I mean. I think it might be a downer for some of our people if they thought the Muslims were messing up our own celebration."
"I agree," said Derek. "Would you like me to bring the subject up with their spokesman, the man called Rasheed?"
"Yes," said The Major. "Why don't you go look him up right now and see if he could meet with me as soon as possible?"
Twenty minutes later, Derek returned with Rasheed and a Muslim lieutenant he introduced as the ranking officer in their band. He would translate for the lieutenant. Major Talbot asked Derek to stay with him to witness the talks, which he began with a rather dramatic set of remarks.
"I believe the war between us to be over," said The Major. "Men of goodwill now need to reach out to each other with helping hands. I welcome you and your people into our camp."
When Rasheed translated, the Muslim officer smiled broadly and reached his hand out to The Major and they shook hands warmly.
"I know that you will have some in your group that hate our people, perhaps for good reason," The Major went on. "You must expect to find people like that among us, too. We must work hard to diminish this hatred if we are to survive together. My men will be instructed not to treat you as prisoners, but as allies. Do you think we can make this work?"
Again, the Muslim officer grinned, replying, through Rasheed, that he thought kindness would be returned by his people in like fashion. He explained that much suffering already had been endured by his people and they were extremely grateful to be treated as they had been treated so far.
"You have arrived at our camp on a great religious holiday of our Christian people," The Major continued. "This is a holiday that also is celebrated by many non-Christians. We intend to have a festive meal and some singing of songs, many of them with no religious significance. Is this something that your people would find objectionable? Or do you think they would like to be our guests on this occasion?"
Rasheed and the Muslim officer conferred briefly and Rasheed finally spoke:
"The Colonel believes we must learn to respect each other's religious observances and he believes this might be a good place for our people to start," said Rasheed. "He says we would be honored to be your guests for the Christmas dinner."
There were no turkeys to roast, no pumpkins to make into pies, no cranberries to turn into sauce, but the Amer-Canadians were able to put together a pretty elaborate special dinner using a variety of fresh fish, some canned hams and an assortment of hot breads made from all kinds of grains still in good supply. The rice from the Muslim band was turned into a tasty dessert, sweetened with canned fruit and fruit juices.
But before the dinner was served, The Major called Derek back to his tent to let him be present for a protest from a hard-nosed group of soldiers who wanted the dinner restricted to their own side without any of the enemy forces sitting down with them.
"Many of us have witnessed the cruelty of these people," one angry staff sergeant complained. "It's like twisting a knife in our guts to make us sit down to dinner on a religious holiday with these bastards!"
"What do you think will happen if we just ignore these people and yet try to depend on them as helpmates in the future," The Major asked. 'You don't have to love them, but don't you think it's time to try building some trust with them? What point will be served if we refuse to find some common ground with them?"
"If we line them up and kill them, we'll be rid of them and any reponsibility to feed them," another "delegate" chimed in. "They'll just drag us down."
The Major and his small group of officers remained silent for a moment, listening as still others spoke up, urging similar "solutions" to the problem of their Muslim "guests." When he'd heard all who asked to speak, he reached into an envelope he had on the table before him and produced an old black and white photo of a sinister-looking man.
"This is Adolph Hitler," said The Major. "He presided over the execution of more than a million Jews during the rule of the right wing Nazi party in Germany. His troops killed thousands of Americans and Canadians and people of other nations in World War II. His bombs killed hundreds of thousands of unarmed citizens in England, France, Halland and the former Soviet Union. He was the most hated man of the 20th century--and yet America and Canada quickly renewed relationships with Germany after the war and did not hold the German people responsible for the individual acts of their soldiers. Have you looked at the women and children in the Muslim camp? Have you talked with any of the men and learned how sick of war they have become---just like us."
The Major then asked Private Derek Palmer to give them his thoughts on the issue after getting to know some of the Muslim fighting men.
"I've been talking with them for several hours," said Derek. "I find them very much like us in terms of their attitude toward the war. They blame their leaders--including their religious mullahs--for prodding them into a war none of them really wanted. They want to live in peace with us. Can we trust them? I think so, but I don't really know for sure. All I know is that I'm sick of killing and I'm willing to lock hands with any people of any country who want to stop it now."
After an hour of similar discussion, the
agitators seemed to pull in their horns. No weapons would be
allowed in the big tent where the dinner would be held. Though
some of the men were still very angry about the situation, a
majority seemed willing to wait and see how things went
That evening the winds subsided and, though there was a deep chill outside, the interior of the big tent was cozily warm from the large heaters strategically placed throughout the space. A huge buffet table had been set up at one end of the space and, though the same plain plates and utensils were being used as usual, there had been some effort put into decorating the place with evergreen branches, pine cones and some drawings of Santa Claus that the more artistically gifted had made just for this occasion. The men and women of the platoon talked noisily and there was no ominous atmosphere despite the tension many were feeling.
A hush came over the space when the Muslims began to file in and take their places at their own tables near the buffet. Derek and Terri were seated together, facing the procession. None of the Muslim women were wearing veils or head coverings. The children looked like children from anywhere--eager to try foods that looked tempting, ready to giggle and laugh at the first sign of friendliness. The Muslim men had come in conventional clothing, not military fatigues. They were sober-faced, but far from grim-looking.
Then a familiar sound came over the room--someone tapping a fork or spoon against a glass for attention, the sound that belonged in a small town service club meeting, not a military mess hall. It was The Major, who waited to speak as the crowd noise settled down.
"For our Muslim guests, who may not know this--we are celebrating the Christmas holiday tonight with this dinner," The Major began. "Though Christmas is a holiday rooted in the Christian religion, Christmas is also a holiday that can be shared by men and women of all religious faiths--or, for that matter, people of no religious faiths whatsoever. It is a time for sharing your home place, your food, your plenty with others who crave the same things you do--peace and love among the peoples of the world. We may believe there are different roads to peace and understanding, yet I hope that all of us here tonight are willing to look for a new beginning in which we do everything we can to link hands as we walk toward a future that may demand the very best from all of us."
The room remained quiet, as though everyone was trying to absorb this simple, yet difficult truth: Everyone in this place might eventually need the help of everyone else in order to survive.
"Do our Muslim guests have anyone who wants to speak for them on this special occasion before we begin to enjoy our dinner?" asked The Major.
Derek was happy to see Rasheed rise from the group of Muslim tables. He came forward, leading two young children: A dark-skinned boy with one missing arm and a pretty little girl who clung to the boy's one good arm.
"My people believe the next generation on both sides must not make the mistakes our generation made. We believe we must learn tolerance of the beliefs of each other and look first for those common things that all human beings desire. I introduce you now to Jamal and Farina. Jamal was orphaned three years ago when both his parents were killed by a guided missile and his arm was torn from his body. Farina's father was killed on the first day of the war and her mother lies mortally ill in our hospital tent. They have become brother and sister out of need. They have been inseparable on our trek to this territory. They have been practicing all day on a song they want to sing for you. It has no message in its words, but we think you will receive a message that all of us want to send to you as soon as you hear them."
That said, Rasheed nudged the two children
forward and lifted them up onto a table that allowed everyone
in the room to see them. Now aware that scores of strangers were
now staring at them, the children at first appeared frightened,
but then they clasped hands together, smiled at each other and
began to sing.
"Jinga bell, Jinga bell," they sang in perfect unison,
grinning broadly. "Jinga all de way!"
Derek mopped quickly at the tears that formed in his eyes. As he looked around, he saw glistening eyes everywhere. The children sang on, finally ending in a crescendo of enthusiasm. Applause rose first from the Amer-Canadian side of the space and then, one by one, men and women from their side began to drift to the Muslim tables, shaking hands and embracing the strangers they had finally begun to learn not to fear or hate. You could feel the relief in the air as tensions flowed away in the good spirits the children had engendered.
With just a few subtle acts--the way they dressed for one--the Muslims had dramatically displayed a willingness to meet the Westerners halfway. Having two utterly charming kids sing a non-denominational yuletide song like "Jingle Bells" was a brilliant move--and another demonstration that the Muslims were willing to bend rules the mullahs of war would never have allowed them to disobey.
"Well, I believe that went well," said a voice to his left and Derek turned to see a smiling Rasheed. "It won't be this easy all the time, but I believe we might have taken a very nice first step."
"Indeed, indeed," said Derek. "And perhaps we now should take the second step together--so we don't end up at the end of the line to the buffet table. I think this could turn out to be a very merry Christmas for all of us, don't you?"
©2009 by Ron Miller. This column first posted Dec. 21, 2009.
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