From clbundy@indy.net Sun Jan 04 07:36:03 1998

Newsgroups: alt.slack

Subject: A belated XistMas Tale (1 of 2)

From: clbundy@indy.net (Christopher Lee)

Date: Sun, 04 Jan 1998 15:36:03 GMT

 

Santa Claus Vs the Nazis!!!

Part 1 of 2

by Rev. Dr. Christopher Lee

 

 

Snow fell in long lazy looping paths. Already the city was

blanketed in the whiteness. Anne felt peace, a brief respite from the

nightmare her family was living. She felt insulated, like the city.

Anne flipped idly through the pages of her diary. She knew all too

well how long her family had been concealed in this attic, hidden by

sympathizers. In the distance, she could hear a tank rumble through

the narrow streets. Most of her family slept, but Anne couldn't. The

emptiness of the city, the snow... she felt as though the city had

frozen in time, a time of calmness and peace.

 

Far above, an object cruised through the sky at a speed which

would have been thought impossible at that time.

"Approaching the next major population center, Santa." said

Floyd, one of three Elves chosen for this year's run.

Santa put down his paperback. "Great. What's the stop, boys?"

"Amsterdam, Netherlands" replied Smitty.

"Amsterdam! Great! Great town." enthused Santa. "Alright

boys we're going to try a water landing here, probably in the main

canal. Floyd, get up front and brief the reindeer. Smitty,

double-check the hydro refittings. Sanchez, hand me that spyglass, and

find me the Amsterdam data."

 

 

The Elves burst into action. Floyd cautiously walked down a

narrow gangplank which ran between the two rows of reindeer, to which

he whispered instructions. Smitty strapped on a harness and hopped

over the side of the sleigh, grasping various handholds as he worked

his way to the underside of the vessel. Sanchez handed the spyglass

to Santa and took the reins as Santa peered ahead. Santa frowned.

"Hm. There's a lot of action in the sky tonight. I count one

blimp and two- no... three biplanes. Sanchez, what's our ETA?"

"About four minutes, Santa." answered Sanchez.

"Boys, finish up, and haul yourselves back in here. I've got

an odd feeling about this." Santa leaned back into the oversized seat

as the Elves moved back into the sleigh. As the sleigh approached the

city, Santa caught sight of the symbol emblazoned on the blimp.

 

 

"Nazis. What a way to spend Christmas. Alright, we're going

to continue with procedure, but with a couple of minor alterations.

We're going in low, under their radar. We'll continue with the water

landing, but you'll stay with the sleigh. I'll go this one alone- we

get in and we get out. Is that understood?"

 

The Elves nodded. They had never seen Santa so grim. Several

of his aspects were somewhat serious, but this was worrisome.

However, they had unswerving confidence in Santa. Whatever the

circumstances were, he would lead them through it.

 

The reindeer guided the sleigh in low, coasting over rooftops,

until Santa found an ideal place to land. The reindeer and the sleigh

glided gracefully downwards until they were floating on the water of

the canal. Santa stepped over the side of the sleigh and walked on

the water to the street.

 

"Sit tight boys, I won't be long." He dashed off down a side

street. Snow continued to fall, covering the streets and rooftops.

Brief moments later, Santa reappeared, laden with items.

"Merry Christmas, fellas!" Santa handed each of the Elves a

9 mm pistol. "Only use in an emergency, but don't hesitate to use

them if you need to."

 

Santa handed Sanchez a walkie-talkie. "Contact me if you need

me, but keep it quiet otherwise, ok? Well boys, let me in get into

costume, and then we'll get moving."

 

The Elves were always fascinated by Santa's various aspects.

Before their eyes he grew taller and stood more erect. He appeared to

age, and his beard grew several inches. He seemed to lose quite a few

pounds. His red coat grew into a cloak, with ornate lettering along

the fringe. He leaned on a staff. The only things that were unchanged

were his eyes, which shone with the wisdom of ages. Santa vanished

before the Elves' eyes. He had set off on his Christmas mission.

 

Anne was startled to hear a noise from below. The Van

Klempers, the family that was hiding them, never stayed awake late,

fearful of attracting attention. Anne froze, her fears resurfacing.

From outside, Anne heard the distinct bark of a dog. Was it a patrol?

 

Was it approaching?

 

Anne shrunk into a corner. Out of the corner of her eye, she

noticed movement. A tall thin figure glided out of the shadows and

bumped into a table, knocking it over. Anne's father began to stir.

The figure moved towards a wall, bumping and groping for its way.

Anne was terrified. She could recognize that it was not a family

member, and she knew that the hidden apartment was difficult to

access, especially in the dark.

 

The lights blazed on, blinding Anne. She could hear her

family stir, and her father's complaints, and then his gasp of horror.

Anne's vision cleared and she saw the tall lean bearded man. He was

dressed in red and carried a bag slung carelessly over one shoulder.

Outside, the barking was closer.

 

"Hmmph. No tree. Oh well." declared the old man as he began

to place small wooden toys in one corner. "I suppose these people

have enough problems as it is."

 

By now, Anne's father was fully awake. He stood up quickly,

brandishing a small glass. "My god! Who are you? How did you get

here?"

 

"Why, I'm Kris Kringle! Now settle down or you'll wake the

children."

 

Outside, the barking resumed, closer. Anne realized that the

secret rooms stood out, with the lights on at night. "Father! The

patrols!"

 

"My god! You've killed us old man, do you realize that? We're

dead!" Anne's father rushed to the lights and switched them off.

Santa switched them on just as quickly. Anne's father choked back a

scream, and switched them off again, and swung at Santa with the

glass.

 

Santa easily blocked the swing, and calmly turned the lights

back on. He gave Anne's father a gentle push that sent him stumbling

back several feet. Outside, Anne heard the dog just below the window.

 

Someone shouted, in German. Now someone was beating on the front

door. Tears began to roll down Anne's face. She wasn't sure what

would happen, but she knew it would be terrible.

 

The old man... Kris Kringle... resumed placing toys in the

corner. "Let's see... Anne's been good... Frank's been good..."

Someone was shouting downstairs. Anne strained to hear the

voices of the Van Klempers, in feeble protest. A loud crash startled

Anne... they had found the bookcase, knocked it over. More shouts,

in German, at the Van Klempers. Anne looked at her father. He was

rapidly, uselessly searching for an escape route for his family, which

was now huddled in the far corner. He looked like an animal caught in

a cage... which is exactly how he would now be treated. The patrol

was coming up the stairs now, their heavy bootsteps resounding through

the room. Anne caught a glimpse of the old man glide smoothly into

the shadows of a corner.

 

The German patrol stepped into the room. There were three of

them, and a German Shepherd, which was barking frantically. The first

of the men pulled out his .9mm automatic and stepped to Anne's father.

 

 

"Stand up!" Anne's father complied. "How many are hiding

here?" The Nazi demanded.

 

Anne's father was pale, stricken. He tried to answer, but

nothing but a stutter came out. A second Nazi grabbed Anne.

 

"Tell us or we'll turn the dog on the girl!" He threatened.

 

"Rolf. I never thought you would turn out like this." said a

sad voice from the corner. "How'd you get mixed up with these

demons?"

 

The third Nazi, Rolf, spun to face the corner. He removed his

pistol and pointed in that direction. "Show yourself!"

Kris Kringle stepped lightly from the corner. The dog was

straining at its leash to get at the man. He glanced calmly around

the room, taking stock of the situation, sizing up his enemies.

 

"You are enemies of good will and the spirit of Christmas."

Santa spoke, in fluent German. "I'm placing you under arrest for

crimes against my domain."

 

The Nazis burst out laughing. "Get in the corner with the

others, you senile fool." commanded Rolf.

 

The dog began barking wildly. Santa gave it a glance and it

fell silent and sat on the floor. Santa stepped up to Rolf, whose

weapon was pointed directly at Santa's face.

 

"How did this happen Rolf? Why did you turn out this way?

 

Those two, Uwe and Conrad, they were always bad boys... but you? You

were a good boy Rolf." Santa's voice was thick and sugary, lulling.

"Do you remember what you wanted for Christmas when you were nine?

 

The year your grandfather died? You didn't want toys, or candy... you

just wanted your mother to be happy again... you wanted no more

death... no more death."

 

Rolf was amazed, and fearful. The old man's words rang

through his ears. How could he know any of that, unless...

 

"It's not too late for you, Rolf... you can redeem yourself...

you can still celebrate Christmas Rolf..." Santa's voice had tightened

to an intense whisper. "Help us Rolf!"

 

Rolf was thoroughly mesmerized. His commanding officer held

his pistol on Anne. "Shoot him Rolf!"

 

Rolf turned and fired on his commander, hitting him in the

shoulder, near the neck. Santa sprung forward as the other Nazi

fired. Santa punched him in the throat and then kneed him in the face

as the Nazi fell. Santa hurried to Rolf, who was shot in the leg, and

examined the wound. Santa rummaged through Rolf's pack, found a first

aid kit, and began to treat the gunshot. He then pulled a thin vial

from inside his belt and poured the liquid contents onto the bandages.

 

 

"That will help it heal Rolf. Merry Christmas." Santa's

gentle eyes shone. "It's alright everyone. Show's over. You can get

up now."

 

Anne and her family cautiously moved from the corners. They

were pale and fearful. Anne's father trembled with rage. "Why have

you done this?!? What are we supposed to do now? My God! We don't

even celebrate Christmas!"

 

A frown crossed Santa's face. "You don't celebrate Christmas.

You don't celebrate Christmas. Why don't you celebrate Christmas?"

 

"We're Jewish! That's why we were hiding, fool."

 

Santa took a deep breath. He slowly counted to ten, in Greek,

and then as an afterthought, in Hebrew. "Listen, and listen good-

this is Christmas and I'm Kris Kringle, Santa Claus, Father Christmas,

Big Red, Saint Nicklaus, Sanity Clause... I've got a thousand names

and a thousand forms. I've existed for a long time- longer than most

religions. I stand outside religion-I do not require it to operate.

 

This is my holiday, Christmas, and it is meant for everyone-

Christians, Jewish, Hindu, pagans, even atheists like Anne."

Anne's father shot a glance at Anne, but before he could

protest, Santa had continued.

 

"Truth be known, the only religions that could make any claim

on this day are the pagans. Happy Yule Day! Everyone else moved in

to steal the thunder from the pagan festivals of the time. Jesus

wasn't even born until February.

 

They always mention the gold, myrrh and frankincense, but they

fail to mention the fourth wise man, with the toys, and apples, and

candies, and the baby clothes. Practical things for the child. But I

digress-

 

Let me put this another way... you have to believe in me,

because right now, I'm the only one who can help you... well me and

Rolf actually."

 

As Anne's father gaped at this, they heard a noise behind

them- the squelch of a walkie talkie. Rolf's commander was dying,

slumped against a corner, but he had managed to get to his walkie

talkie and was speaking into it. Santa took three quick steps and then

leapt at him, crashing into him with a sumo manoeuver. Three quick

punches and the Nazi was done.

 

"So much for that master race. He didn't have the holiday

spirit." Santa picked up the walkie-talkie and spoke into it, in

German.

 

"That'll confuse them. I wished them all a Merry Christmas.

Now listen- Anne's father, this is for you." Santa handed Anne's

father a manila envelope. "Inside, you'll find passports, travel

visas, enough money to get the family a fair distance. Don't thank

me. Rolf will help you. I expect another patrol is heading in this

direction, so we don't have much time.

 

Rolf and Anne's father- start to clean up, the rest of you-

begin packing, take only what is essential, leave the rest behind.

Don't worry, you might get something nice next Christmas! Get moving!

Now I'm going to go distract them. Merry Christmas everybody."

Anne watched Santa walk down the stairs and exchange a few

words with the Van Klempers, who had been too afraid to come upstairs.

 

He handed them a package, wished them happy holidays, and left.

Impulsively, Anne ran downstairs after him. She could hear her

father's shout in the background, but didn't care. She had to see

more.

 

 

(To be concluded...)

 

 

From clbundy@indy.net Sun Jan 04 07:42:49 1998

Newsgroups: alt.slack

Subject: A XistMas Tale, The Conclusion

From: clbundy@indy.net (Christopher Lee)

Date: Sun, 04 Jan 1998 15:42:49 GMT

 

 

Santa Claus Vs the Nazis (Part 2 of 2)

 

by Rev. Christopher Lee

 

Quijibo Clench

 

Santa rounded a corner only to find himself facing a Panzer tank

and fifteen to twenty infantry following it. Santa was cut off from

his sleigh, but it all seemed worthwhile. After all, he hadn't

attracted the attention of that patrol for nothing. He began to weigh

his options when the walkie-talkie squawked at him.

 

"Santa- this is Sanchez- we've encountered the enemy, but I think

we can hold them off- do you have any instructions?"

"Hold your position for five more minute, if you can, and then

get the sleigh in the air." Santa scanned the area's buildings and

described his location to Sanchez. "I'll be done here soon, and I'll

need pickup."

 

Santa heard the shouts from the Nazi patrol. They had spotted

him. He glanced back around the corner. Half of the infantry was

closing in on his position, and the tank's cannon was taking aim.

 

Santa took off across the street. He had to get a little distance for

what he had planned. He heard the cannon fire.

Santa began to leap as the shell exploded where he had been

standing. Santa was thrown forty feet and slammed into a wall. He

crawled around the corner.

 

Santa began to take short rapid breaths. He had not assumed this

particular form since the day of Attila. In brief moments, Santa had

changed into a far older Aspect. He stood taller, and his beard was

speckled grey, and unkempt. His cane had became a battle axe, and his

cloak was now armor, tinged red, held together by red-dyed leather.

He was still an old man, but he was muscled and experienced. He was a

warrior.

 

The first five Nazis turned the corner. Santa cut down two of

them before they could realize their situation. He charged two more,

hoisting them into the air and slamming them into the alley's wall.

They fell to the ground, gasping for breath. Santa turned toward the

remaining soldier as he fired, wounding Santa just below his shoulder.

Santa glanced at the blood issuing from the wound, and then bit

himself in the tongue. The taste of hot blood filled Santa's mouth.

Slowly the berserker rage set in. Santa's eyes glazed over as he

turned his attentions back to the attacker who was carefully aiming

for a head wound. Santa hurled his ax with such force that it cleaved

the soldier in two.

 

Santa retrieved his weapon, and glanced around the corner.

Already the second wave was moving in, and the tank was manoeuvring to

block Santa in the alley. Santa returned to the two living soldiers.

He clubbed them unconscious and claimed their weapons. He threw the

first grenade as the first troops rounded the corner.

Santa charged into the street, moving through four of the

enemy. He threw the second grenade as the first exploded. Several

Nazis moved in on Santa while the rest scattered. Santa swung his axe

wide, clearing a path to the tank, which was moving clumsily towards

him.

 

Just before the tank rolled over Santa, he sank his axe into it,

and pulled himself up. He yanked the axe from the tank's shell and

prepared to climb atop it. He heard a bullet whistle past his ear,

and he turned to face the Nazis who were attempting to gather ranks.

Santa pulled out his remaining grenade, pulled the pin with his teeth

and threw it into their midst. He climbed to the hatch of the tank

and began to attack it with a frenzy with his axe.

 

Santa cut several gashes into the tank and then began to tear the

hole wide with his bare hands. Santa tore the tank open as though it

were made of gift wrapping. From inside a fearful gunner fired a

pistol, missing by several inches. Santa dropped into the tank, and

effortlessly knocked out the two occupants.

 

Anne watched from a distance. Santa had just disappeared intotank.

Most of the Nazis had ran, but six or seven stood

there, confused. The tank lurched forward, awkwardly. The turret rotated

until it was aimed at the remaining Nazis, who ran. Anne heard the

rumble of a second tank down the street. Santa's tank began rolling

rapidly towards the canal that ran in front of the Van Klempers home.

The turret swivelled around to face the tank that had appeared at the

end of the street.

 

Santa's cannon fired and its shell exploded in front of the enemy

tank. Anne saw Santa pull himself out of the tank as it neared the icy

canal. Santa grabbed onto an overhead fire escape and pulled himself

up. With incredible speed, Santa ran up the metal steps. He began to

dash down the street, atop the buildings. Anne's eye could barely

keep up with him. He jumped from one building to the next with

uncanny ease and agility. Anne's eyes scarcely registered the sleigh

that swooped down or Santa's seven foot leap to grasp the hydroski

refittings. By that moment Santa had become a blur of light, and then

he was gone. Anne hurried back to her home. Soon she would have a

new, safe home. Santa cautiously pulled himself into the

sleigh. Santa shook violently... and slowly he transformed into a

more traditional Aspect. He checked the Elves' conditions. Floyd had

the reins, Sanchez was scanning the horizon with the spyglass, and

Smitty held a rifle alertly. They had the look of Elves who had just

been in a hell of a fight. Floyd started to hand the reins to Santa.

 

"That's alright, you keep them. I don't think I've nearly done

my part here. Are those biplanes still in the area?"

 

"Yes sir" piped Sanchez. "In fact, two are closing on us."

"Christ Santa! Haven't we had enough?" shrieked Floyd, whose

nerves were shot.

 

Santa looked at Floyd angrily, but just as quickly changed his

mood. "Actually no. I just went through my first berserker rage

since the Crusades, and my adrenaline is pumping!"

 

Santa eased a flask out of his pocket and took a swig, and then

handed the flask to Floyd. "Help yourself. Now listen: Floyd- you

man the rifle, shoot to kill. Smitty- take the reins. Sanchez- you've

got a good idea how I work in situations- direct these two as best you

can. As soon as I make my move, I'm going to need a decoy. Lead

those bastards on a wild goose chase!"

 

The sleigh neared the third biplane. Santa perched himself on

the edge of the sleigh, which passed no more than ten feet over the

biplane. and dropped down onto the biplane and desperately grasped

the wing's edge. He pulled himself up and plotted his move into thecockpit. Overhead the sleigh sharply turned right. Santa looked

behind to see the two pursuers follow. Santa felt this biplane begin

to turn also.

 

Good, he thought, I'll be behind them. Santa started to peer

over the wing's edge when a bullet tore through the wing on his left.

Santa began to roll to the right as several bullets pierced the wing

from below, in the cockpit. Santa reached the wing's edge and let

himself fall, catching himself at the last moment.

Santa, hanging from the wing, looked towards the cockpit. The

pilot was concentrating on the pursuit of the sleigh, but his gunner

was foolishly standing, half- turned, in his seat. The machine gun in

his hands smoked. He saw Santa just as Santa dropped to the lower

wing. Santa charged as the gunner swung the machine gun around.

Santa barrelled into the gunner, knocking him into snowy space. Santa

listened with pleasure as the machine gun fired and chattered

during the Nazi's plunge.

 

"You've been naughty!" snapped Santa.

 

Santa slammed the pilot into the control panel and then threw

his unconscious form into the rear seat. Santa settled into the pilot

seat and scanned the sky for the other two biplanes. It appeared that

Smitty was leading them on a merry chase, but it wouldn't last

forever, as Smitty had little experience as a combat pilot. Santa

closed rapidly with the rear biplane and opened fire. Bullets

shredded the small plane which began to spin out of control.

 

Santa tore the machine gun from its clamps and moved in on the

final biplane. Santa flew alongside the biplane and pulled himself

out of the cockpit. He ran along the wing and jumped to the other

wing as his biplane began to dip and wobble out of control. Santa and

the occupants of the biplane stared at the biplane which Santa had

just abandoned. Suddenly it spun, and it's top wing collided with the

wing of this plane, knocking everyone asunder.

 

Santa grimaced and began to walk carefully towards the cockpit of

the shaking plane. The snowy wind blew in his face. He felt more

alive, more dangerous than he had in years. Behind him, the plane

began to plummet. Ahead of him, the pilot was adjusting his

parachute, preparing to leap from the plane. The gunner was

struggling with his, but couldn't get it on properly. He stared at

the approaching heavy set, machine gun toting vengeful Santa. As the

pilot jumped, the gunner grabbed hold of him and together they fell.

 

Santa fell into the pilot's seat and allowed himself a moment to

relax. He had cleared the menace from the Amsterdam sky, for the

moment. Santa was preparing to rendezvous with the sleigh when he

noticed the zeppelin, the zeppelin with the huge swastika on its side.

 

Santa thought back to his humble beginnings. Just as religious

elements had changed his Christmas festivals and lessened the pagan

elements, so had these Nazis perverted this ancient pagan sun symbol.

Santa should not allow it to continue. Santa reached for his

walkie-talkie.

 

"Sleigh? Santa here. I'm going to take out that blimp. Attempt

pick-up about 50 feet underneath it." Santa threw the walkie-talkie

overboard before the Elves could protest. He then set his sights on

the blimp and accelerated to the biplane's limit.

 

The Elves watched in horror as Santa's plane hurtled towards the

zeppelin. Sanchez urged the reindeer to greater speeds, as they moved

to rescue Santa from his doomed mission. They closed the gap between

themselves and Santa's target quickly, but not quickly enough. Santa

flew his plane directly into the blimp, the propellor blades chopping

and slicing through the material. The blimp began to collapse, and

then exploded as the helium ignited. The fireball was stupendous, and

released a heat wave that scalded the Elves. The fiery carcass of the

blimp fell slowly, lighting up the night sky.

 

The Elves were stunned into silence. It was inconceivable that

Santa could be dead. They searched the sky anxiously for some sign.

Smitty spotted Santa first. Santa's cloak had billowed out, and Santa

was using it to gently glide towards the sleigh.

 

The Elves directed the sleigh towards Santa and he fell into

place in the pilot's seat. He took the reins and turned the sleigh

out towards the countryside.

 

"Exciting, wasn't it?" Santa exclaimed. "We've got to make up

some time, but it was all worth it, I think. I do want to add a stop

on the list in Berlin though."

 

EPILOGUE

 

He woke with a start. He could have sworn that he had heard a

noise... that someone had been in the room. Cautiously, he turned over

in bed, and was startled to find a knife buried in the pillow next to

him. Heart pounding, he sat upright in the bed and glanced quickly

around the room. It appeared empty. He slowly reached to where a

pistol was concealed, only to find the hiding place empty.

 

Now he was quite fearful. He had been assured that this place

was secure, by both his security forces and by the Thules. He

suddenly noticed how cold the room was. Was something present? He

removed the knife from the pillow and carefully slid from the bed

towards the corner, which would allow him a better vantage point. The

floor was frigid and chilled him to the bone. From the corner, he

noticed a window which stood partially open. He was partially

relieved. At least the intruder was human. He searched the foot of

the bed for his slippers and began to pull them on. His foot suddenly

struck something cold, gritty, hard. He threw it across the room and

angrily switched on a light.

 

Adolf Hitler was quite surprised to find each slipper packed with

 

coal.

 

 

The End.