Arthur Christmas (12 page)

“They think we're aliens!” Arthur exclaimed.

“All their technology against my Evie,” Grandsanta fretted.

“Are you afraid, sir?” the elf asked.

“Never been afraid of anything in me life!” Grandsanta declared. “Except looking like an old fool.”

Arthur shrugged. “I always look like a fool. It's the only thing I'm not scared of.”

Grandsanta met his grandson's gaze, and they shared a smile. The old man winked. “Let's give 'em something to shoot at!”

Then he flipped a little lid over a button with one mysterious word printed on it:
WAR
. As soon as he pressed the button, camouflage panels started clanking into place. But these did not make Eve look like a steam train.

The UNFITA operative concluded his countdown and stated, “We have visual!”

Chief De Silva, the generals, and UNFITA operatives stared at the screen in disbelief.

How on earth could a World War I German Fokker Triplane be speeding toward England? Surely the Red Baron had not returned to attack!

As the “plane” flew over the famous White Cliffs of Dover, Arthur peeped over the edge. “England! We're nearly there!” he told his companions.

Bryony looked thoughtful. “It's quiet!”

Grandsanta seemed worried. “Too quiet.”

“Maybe they all went to bed so they wouldn't be too tired for Christmas!” Arthur suggested.

But his optimistic assertion proved quite wrong.

With the “Red Baron” in their sights, the UNFITA operatives reported, “I have the Red Thing. Coordinate G567. Altitude 11,000 feet. Red Thing coming to me.”

De Silva commanded, “Target its controls. Electronics, navigation, propulsion systems.”

Her aide scanned the sleigh, “Ma'am, it doesn't have any. The engine appears to be … furry.”

Inside the antique camouflage, Dasher's sides heaved and the old deer panted. Even in his youth, such a fast flight would have been challenging. But the ancient, one-antlered pet had not trained for this mission. Dasher had spent decades doing little more than dozing at Grandsanta's feet.

Arthur, Bryony, and Grandsanta glanced back in concern at the growing glint of sunlight on the horizon behind them. The sleigh struggled like a plane with a sputtering engine.

Grandsanta cranked up the “hooves per second.” Then all three shouted encouragement to the tired reindeer. “Come on, lad!” “You can do it!” “Put your back into it!”

Arthur pressed his reindeer slipper to start “Jingle Bells.” Then he began singing and the others joined in!

“Dashing through the snow, in a one horse open sleigh …”

The song lifted Dasher's spirits, giving his legs new strength.

“Over the field we go, laughing all the way …”

Bryony's silvery elfin laugh echoed, “Ha, ha, ha …”

BLEEP! BLEEP! BLEEP! BLEEP!
The sensors sounded in UNFITA's war room. An operative reported, “I am picking up an electronic signal on the sensors! It's very faint, but …”

“Scramble weapons,” De Silva commanded. So the mysterious craft had an electromagnetic frequency after all!

The “triplane” flew over snow-covered countryside with the sunlight close behind. The sun seemed in danger of catching the sleigh at any moment. Unwilling to let that happen, Dasher galloped with all his might, encouraged by his passengers, who sang along with the slipper, “Jingle Bells, Jingle Bells, Jingle all the way!”

ARTHUR STUDIED GWEN'S
postcard with its jaunty tourist map of Cornwall. He recognized the village of Trelew dead ahead! Arthur exclaimed, “That's it there! We made it!”

Then something sped toward them. At first just a tiny speck, it suddenly became clearer: A UNFITA drone, laden with deadly missiles!

Grandsanta saw the drone and replied grimly. “Not quite. We haven't made it yet.”

The old man swerved the sleigh, but this proved futile against such advanced technology.

“Drone closing …,” the UNFITA operative told his boss.

“It's locked onto us,” Bryony observed. “It's tracking something electronic!”

Grandsanta puzzled, “We haven't got any electrickery! Just wood and brass and …”

The tinny sound of “Jingle Bells” rose from the floor. They shouted to Arthur, “Your SLIPPER!”

The operative concluded, “We have a lock!”

In the speeding sleigh, Grandsanta grabbed the singing slipper. “Give it here. I'll create a diversion!”

“But you're coming, too!” Bryony exclaimed. “You'll land the sleigh on the roof with the reindeer and the jingly bells and … tell him Arthur!”

Grandsanta shook his gray head. “You were right, Arthur. It doesn't matter how Santa's gift gets there. It doesn't even matter if it's Mr. Postman in his spaceship. As long as it gets there.”

“But you and Evie?” Arthur's eyes filled with tears.

Grandsanta laughed gallantly. “Ha! I'll be fine! Now, do as I say …”

In the war room, the operative's voice grew tense as he began the countdown to detonation. “In range in 3 seconds … 2 seconds …”

The “Red Baron” filled the giant screen as the drone closed in on its target. Then suddenly the triplane exploded! Bits of camouflage hurtled toward the screen, a confusing array, including not only the antique plane, but a house, a steam train, a ship, and then …
SPLAT!

The drone's camera was suddenly hit with sticky tangerines, then chocolate coins, candy canes, and a squishy little toy that waddled down the glass.

De Silva's aide exclaimed, “They're firing on us, ma'am! Chocolate coins and candy canes …”

Chief De Silva wondered, “Have you been into the eggnog?”

The bizarre barrage came from Bryony's stocking stuffer gun, which she fired at the drone from the sleigh's rear. When the gun ran out of its delicious and delightful ammunition, the elf turned to Grandsanta. The old man shouted to Arthur, “GO! Don't stop until you see the whites of her eyes!”

As Arthur jumped from under the sleigh, he pulled a cord. Something huge and scarlet opened above his head—the red velvet toy sack Grandsanta had once used to carry toys for all the children in the world.

As he drifted down toward England under his unique parachute, Arthur shouted, “Happy Christmas!”

Grandsanta addressed Bryony. “Go on, elf. You, too.”

Bryony hesitated, wondering what would happen to the grouchy old man who had somehow become quite dear to her.

He quickly added, “I'll be fine.”

But would he? Bryony could not be sure, any more than she could disobey a Claus. The elf's tiny eyes sparkled with tears as she kissed Grandsanta's grizzled cheek. Then she jumped!

Just then, Chief De Silva gave the fateful command, “Launch Missiles!”

In seconds, the drone fired. Grandsanta set the telltale slipper on Eve's dashboard and loosened Dasher's reins. He said, “This is it, old fella. Maybe the next Santa never sat in my Evie, but Arthur did, and he's as good a man as any Santa there's ever been.”

As Dasher floated free, Grandsanta stood proudly atop his sleigh and saluted the loyal deer. Rockets zoomed closer, but the old man showed no fear. He simply said, “Bye, Evie!”

BOOM!
The sleigh exploded brilliantly in the dark sky!

“Red thing down,” the UNFITA operative reported.

De Silva concluded, “Thank you, gentlemen.”

Meanwhile, in the sky above Trelew, Arthur and Bryony heard an alarming
RRRIPPP
in the fabric above them as ancient stitches tore free of the faded velvet. No longer gently floating, the two suddenly found themselves plummeting toward trees that grew larger every second!

At the same time, the S-1 swooped over Trelew. Steve prepared to exit the high-tech ship's camouflaged hatch in a slick, Armani-style suit, complete with silk tie. He looked more like a businessman than a figure of legend.

With an athlete's grace, and the wind ruffling his perfectly-coiffed hair, Steve rappelled down toward the address Santa had programmed into the S-1's sophisticated navigation system.

On his muscular back, Steve carried an unwrapped bicycle significantly more expensive than the one Gwen requested. He felt sure his delivery would be met with great delight.

As his parents watched Steve on the S-1's screen, both fretted about the fate of their other son.

Santa sighed. “Poor Arthur. He tried so hard … but he's flunked again.”

Mrs. Claus tried to comfort him. “Of course he hasn't, dear! We're here. The little girl will get her present. I think he's done rather splendidly.”

On Mimosa Avenue, Steve pressed a bell and a child quickly opened the door. Steve immediately launched into his speech, “Good morning, Gwen. Ho, ho, etcetera. Apologies for the minor delay, but I'm sure even a child can understand that in an operation as complex as Christmas there's always an insignificant margin of error, which is you.”

Barely taking a breath, he went on, “As a gesture, I‘ve upgraded you to the Glamorfast Ultra X-3, which retails at substantially more than your requested gift. Bigger, ergo, better,” Steve concluded as he wheeled the bike toward the child. Then he held out a paper and pen, “You wouldn't mind just signing a legal waiver?”

Pedro stared at Steve. He had not understood one word of the strange man's speech. But the boy sure liked the bike!

He spoke in rapid Spanish, “
No le entiendo, señor. Soy Pedro
.”

Steve stared back at the boy and echoed, “Pedro? A boy?”

“
Quién es usted?
” Pedro asked the stranger in the odd red suit. His small hands tightened their grip on the shiny bike.

Steve struggled to understand this unthinkable situation. “A Spanish boy? This is an error.
No hablo español
. Get off the bike!” Steve had gone to the wrong Trelew as well!

Steve grabbed for the Glamorfast Ultra X-3, but Pedro clung to it and then burst into tears! His small, slipper-loving dog ran out the door and latched onto Steve's foot.

“No, no, no!” Steve exclaimed. “Please don't cry.
NO CRYO!
”

The stranger's loud voice frightened the boy. So Pedro wailed louder. “PAPAAAAAA!!!”

Steve pleaded, “
No sob-idad!
”

As Steve struggled to comprehend how his simple mission could have gone so wrong, Arthur and Bryony staggered out of the woods near the English Trelew. Arthur had bumped his leg against a tree trunk upon landing and was limping.

Worse than the pain was the realization that dawn approached faster than they could possibly reach the village below. Bryony whined with frustration, “It's over a mile. We've got no sleigh, no reindeer, and you can't even walk properly!”

Arthur blinked, unwilling to accept defeat after all that they'd been through. He found inspiration.

Arthur ripped the paper off Gwen's small bike. Horrified to see the gorgeous wrapping destroyed, Bryony demanded, “What are you doing?”