Yuletide Hellraising

A Christmas Flash Anthology...

MERRY CHRISTMAS! Welcome to what will be our final stories for 2024. It does feel like an odd chaser, especially this soon after our 11th issue. Beyond the pragmatism of making up two paid-sub stories, I’ve genuinely never thought about Christmas in the setting before, so I figured it’s time to take a bite out of this bit of untapped potential.

Speaking of our 11th issue, it is OUT NOW! I’ll save our Salute The Troops post for tomorrow, but if you have any gift card money to burn, $5 will get you the latest in pulp action and surreal cyberpunk! We are still waiting on the eBook, and will notify our subscribers of when it finally arrives.

But enough of that. Thank you one and all for your support this year, and for helping to make 365 INFANTRY such an incredible part of my life. I wish you all the very Merriest of Christmases, the happiest of all other assorted holidays, and I hope you enjoy this little present.

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OPERATION TINPLATE & OTHER MUSINGS

“Your mission, should you choose to accept it, is to lay this rail line from here…all the way to here. The Great Transcontinental as it once was. We’re running the most dang important express and goods service known to wolfkind. We’re counting on you, steel-drivers, to make it possible.”

So went the briefing from Chief of Engineering Nic Ridgefield to a gaggle of eager young pups with an enormous tub of three-rail track, an inch and a quarter wide. The Points A and B laid out by the towering black-furred officer were all built around the massive, deep green Christmas tree on the auditorium stage where the Force’s gatherings were held. He had inherited the tradition from General Leonard Ford Godred himself, one he had been a part of as a young pup all those years ago.

Watching on from the seats was the new General himself, Adam Knox, and sat beside him, his dear wife Angel. He looked out to the cadre of kids who took to their rail gang work with feverish abandon. He was struck not only by the downright furious pace they worked, but by something he never in a million years expected from a hard-ass Hell Patrolman: being great with kids.

“You think he and Lita will ever tie the knot and have one?” the General’s white wife asked, tying her hair back.

“They’re for-the-causers,” Knox replied, the dark gray wolf tapping out his cigarette. “Once the war’s up, I’m sure they’ll get to it. That or get married now and worry about things later.”

“Bit like us?” she asked, gently.

Knox turned to her and sighed. “Yeah. Bit like us babe.”

Angel nodded solemnly before leaning in and lightening the mood. She whipped out a strand of pine garland and wrapped it around her lover’s neck. “There!” she giggled. “We got all the rest of the red and green décor in place, chefs are off getting the buffets in order, and now the leader of the pack’s looking nice-n-jolly.”

His eyes went ice-blue as he slowly turned towards his wife with a venomous scowl upon his sharp muzzle. A scowl that lasted all of five seconds before he burst into a roar of laughter, a contagious guffaw that filled the room and spread to all the kids who looked up, and to Nic who was sorting out the engines, coaches, and freight cars they were going to run around the tree.

“Guard these with your life,” the black officer said, pointing to the table. “I gotta investigate this up close.”

“Sir yes sir!” saluted the six-year old gray.

Ridgefield leapt off the stage, crossed the bustling old gymnasium, and arrived at the General’s table. “Permission to speak freely, sir?”

“Granted.”

“I didn’t realize the Missus always brought the toys out in public.”

Angel batted her eyes, snickering as she leaned in for a kiss, only to get a taste of Knox’s festive boa in her mouth. Which again, sent everyone off.

“Well that one’s my own dumb fault.” she chortled, only to get pulled onto her man’s lap and take one right on the lips.

“I take the mistletoe’s tucked in there somewhere.” Ridgefield guffawed in that deep voice of his.

“Somewhere.” Knox grinned, looking back to the swift progress the pups were making. They were on to their own decoration, with snow-roofed houses, and dusted white trees. When one kid accidentally knocked some of the setting over, in came another to fix it. “How in the devil did you get so good with lil’ nippers like them? Ain’t no one crying or pouting or feeling left out. Must be music to their parents’ ears over there.”

Ridgefield looked over his shoulder. “I’ll give ya two reasons. One, my old buddy Buck Sterling. Met him during the Hell Patrol days. Dude’s a natural with kids. In fact, the dude’s your Santa this year. And the second: kids love trains. Even my crazy ass was a kiddo once. Ma and Pop, God rest ‘em, always took me to the Force’s big Christmas bash, and I was always there in the chain-gang, getting Leo’s set together. Speaking of, where’s the old devil with the transformer?”

Knox sat up, puzzled. “You mean you don’t have it?”

“Well I do have one.” Ridgefield replied. “But our favorite old fossil’s got one he uses for both lines. Mine can only power one loop.

“Call me a fossil again, and I’ll have you tied to the tracks!”

In stepped the Hound in Black, though that color only accounted for his fur and his jeans. His boots and cowboy hat were a striking cream, his leather jacket red, and an emerald bolo tied. He strolled in with his wife Gwen, still rocking her big head of hair, and their Hell Patrol daughter May, at long last off-duty.

“Merry Christmas.” Nic saluted. “As for that threat, sir, it appears the new regime is also a fan of tying things down.”

He pointed to the tryst-like tableau of Knox and Angel, her hand awkwardly resting on the garland’s ends as she sat in his lap.

The black elder raised an eyebrow before leaning down and whispering. “It ain’t nothing me and Gwen ain’t done before.”

Even at his age, the wife wasn’t shy about smacking him one for the remark, and in kind, the retired soldier wheeled around and popped a kiss square on her petite nose. “Just keeping it light, darling.”

“Yeah. Light.” Gwen retorted. “You’re lucky there’s kids around.”

“And you’re lucky you’re cute when you’re feisty.” Leo smiled. “And as for your transformer, you young devil, I got ‘er right here. Is No. 5 all ready?”

Ridgefield snapped to attention and saluted. “Sir yes sir!”

“At ease you maniac.” Godred chortled. “If ol’ Charlie’s set, I’m set. Let’s get up there and get them wheels turning.”

The black-furred cowboys left the scene and hurried up to the stage. To everyone’s surprise, Godred could still make his flying hop up on the platform, just in time to get mobbed by pups, who all cheered as he got to setting up the controls and powering up the track.

“Charlie’s a cute name for a train.” Angel mused. “Where’d he pull it from?”

“My brother.” May smiled. “One thing Daddy always missed about him around this time of year was running the trains with him. Named Charlie’s favorite loco after him. 2-4-0 tender engine from Baldwin.”

Once “Charlie” made his way from the box to the tracks, with a full rake of coaches in tow, Godred pushed the lever on the transformer, and sent the engine puffing away. Once he completed his Herculean journey around the stage, the old general declared “Operation: Tinplate” a success; the perfect sign of a wonderful night yet to come.