(Military Fantasy Story)
8 April 2017, Sharyat Air Force Command Room, Homs, Syria
Commander Issam Zaheralden nervously picks his fingers over the crappy wood desk. He's a tall man with thick black mustaches just yellowed over his lip because of the habit of smoking big Lebanese cigars like what he now holds between his teeth. From time to time he takes a strange grimace with his mouth, trying nervously but in vain to create a smoke ring immediately deformed by the air that descends from the big fan hanging from the ceiling. After yesterday's missile attack that fortunately did not damage the structures, this single single missile landed this morning as the other away from the base. This, however, unlike the foregoing and for a probable manufacturing defect, did not explode, landing almost horizontally on the service track which is approximately 2500 meters from the actual base; here it slipped all the length of the track itself and stopped at the bottom against a bush. The commander is awaiting the return of the artificiers responsible for defusing the weapon.
With a screech of tires an olive Uaz suddenly brakes and stops right in front of the control room. Two militiamen descend and stormed into the commander's office.
- Mission accomplished, inshallah
- Great job, Sergeant Idris, great job. If you did not know the situation you know, you would like a premium license.
Sergeant Idris al-Homsi is a volunteer young volunteer in Syrian loyalist troops a few months ago. Immediately introduced in the Artificial Ward, however, has not received any training and is at its first operational mission, which explains the expression of great pride that illuminates the face.
- Here, Commander, though ... I ... ... I ... I do not know ... ...
- Tell me, son
With curious expression, the commander observes the embarrassed subaltern who is unbuttoning the burned uniform under which a slight swelling is at the chest height. Gently waving his hand under his jacket, the sergeant pulls out a small green bundle and holds it so gently on the desk. Commander Issam remains silent and a silent lead comes down the hall. But here the bundle suddenly takes shape and rises right at the edge of the table.
A grunting voice breaks the silence:
"Missed goalOOOOHHH .......... goal missedOOOOHHH .......... goal missedOOOOHHH ....... "
A large strip of tape hangs melancholy from the prickly chest with the pride of the little green pappagallino. The ribbon bears the inscription: US Navy ...................
16 April 2017, the command bridge of the destroyer Lincoln, Mitscher class, off the Egyptian coasts
Following the order of rotation received yesterday, the ship moves to the Suez Canal for the Naval Base of Diego Garcia, Indian Ocean, where an indefinite halt is expected waiting for Tomahawk's missile batteries to be equipped with the new advanced piezoelectric trigger system.
Commander Wilson, caught up with another slice of toast embellished with the usual thick layer of peanut butter, is anticipating long vacation (missiles destined for the ship are still on the Mcdonnel assembly lines). Oh, Diego Garcia's sun! The turquoise sea, the light breeze, the afternoon afternoon in the shadow of the great coconut palms .........
Suddenly a sailor bursts like a fury in the control room. It's Lieutenant Frank Catozzo, a proud bomber.
- Commander, commander, I was observing a passage of tuna when ...... ... there ... ... there ... ... at 12 hours!
The commander stands up and looks through the large bowl of the bow. The black silhouette of an underwater silhouetted on the water no more than two miles away.
- Mmmhhh ... .russo, right?
- I think so.
- What do they say from the sonar room?
- Nothing, sir. No sonar track. It '... .is ... .gigantesco! No such thing has ever been seen. At least 300 meters! Unidentified Class. 50.000 tons of tons!
- Are they so many, Catozzo?
- Well, considering that the largest fishing boat of Mazara del Vallo ....
- Lieutenant Catozzo! I do not have time to listen to these baggianate! Immediately pick up the battle line! All at combat sites! Play sirens! Activate electronic defense devices!
- Please, sir, I would think it would be unnecessary to activate electronic defense: those who want to shoot us out! Press a button and ...... ..puff! Game over….
- Then do not activate them! Red alert! Red alert!
Assaulted on the on-board microphone, Commander Wilson began to scream with a solemn voice:
- Attention attention! Your commander, Admiral Wilson, is talking to you. An unidentified unit was spotted at about two miles at 12 hours. Keep calm, each one in your own place and prepare yourself for it. Communication to the operating room: shoot three warning shots, repeat, shoot three shots in the direction of the enemy unit!
Two minutes later another sailor bursts into the room. It is Captain Ralf O'Connor, who is in charge of Mk 45 by 127 mm.
- Sir, if I can afford it, are we sure the sighted unit is to be considered enemy?
- Captain, please! According to you, which marina can have such a ... of such a thing? Maybe the Egyptians?
- Of course not sir, but we're not at war with Russia!
- That's enough! I said and repeat: shoot three warning shots!
Another sailor goes in the hall, but slipping on the doorknob falls to the ground. It's the maid Rick Barry. From the ground where it is and not to rise with a stiff throne:
- Commander, Unidentified Unity keeps stubbornly perpendicular to ours, slamming our waist. This is not to be regarded as an engagement!
- BASTEAA! Who commands this ship? For the last time: SPREAD THREE WARNING!
Two minutes later, three shots are distinctly heard. Few seconds and in front of the submersible bow, three tall columns of water rise up in succession, but almost simultaneously from the deck of the submarine are seven long ascending multicolored crosses; the skies rise up to the right up to about one hundred feet high and then fall off ending the run in water, thus describing in the sky an arc in red, orange, yellow, green, blue, indigo and violet colors.
Commander Wilson, the glance glanced at the window grunts,
- Multicolored rockets ... I have no idea what ....
The second boom in Bob Cousy breaks into the control room, trampling on the right hand of the late Barry, still on the ground, and as he gives a loud groan:
- Commander, Commander, unidentified unit transmits rainbow code!
The astonished gaze of the commander does not give rise to doubts: the commander himself totally ignores the meaning of the code. With a great sensibility and without being disturbed, the Nostromo Cousy removes him from such trouble by detailing:
- The rainbow code does not fall under the international maritime reporting standards and was unilaterally adopted by the Soviet Navy at the time of the Cold War. The only previous use of this code dates back to the 17 in August of the 1991. In an attempt to raise the price of the ongoing disarmament negotiations, on the order of the high command of the Soviet Union's defense forces and President Gorbachev's insurrection, an old and noisy diesel submersible emerged off the Hudson's mouth, threatening New York. After a few moments from the submarine, the rainbow rockets were launched. Our coastal defense that had been observing them for a few hours, not knowing how to interpret the alert came in alarm. In the minutes that followed, there were frenetic consultations and some suggested an immediate demonstration of retaliation with the launch of two nuclear ballistic missiles on Moscow and Leningrad. The risk of atomic warfare materialized. Fortunately and with great cold blood, President George W. Bush senior immediately contacted the red telephone with his Soviet counterpart Michail Gorbachev, who at first did vague and unconvincing excuses, then was forced to apologize for his sons who the thing would not be repeated again. It was thus discovered that the rainbow code indicates unwanted intention.
- And the case was closed ....
- Not exactly, sir. Two days later and precisely the 19 in August a group of senior Russian officers who felt humiliated by what happened, led by Vice President Janaev, laid Gorbachev's detention in Crimea.
Again the door opens, and the Marconist officer enthusiastically shakes a sheet, trampling for the second time the hand of poor Barry who begins to sobbing.
- Commander, unidentified unit has established the radio contact and sends us a communiqué. Here it is.
"Submersible Novosibirsk, the Russian Navy's Military Navy on an operational mission. We have friendly intentions. Our Commander Admiral Igor Vusky asks for the honor of a meeting with your commander Admiral Williams. Your affirmative answer will discuss the technical details. "
The commander's color becomes earthy, trying to say something but not even a loud voice comes out of his throat. Then finally:
- Igor Vusky ... ... but it is ... it's ...
- Yes sir, it's him. The commander in chief of the Baltic fleet. In the Russian navy is considered a myth. His father, Admiral Yuri Vusky, inspired John Mc Tiernan to shoot "Red October Hunt", whose projection forced us to attend all Sundays at the Academy. Contrary to what was quoted in the film, Vusky's father never left the motherland and is now enjoying old age in his dacia immersed in the archangel taiga forests in northern Russia, although he still seems to be still in business ....
- Activities of what kind?
- It is officially testimony to the initiatives of various animal associations. In fact, we know that he spends days in the forest sheltered from prying eyes, training spy squirrels to be used in distraction missions behind enemy lines. His only image we have is a photo taken by a spy satellite that portrays him in a clearing while, in a camouflage uniform, spurs and encourages troops with a speech. In front of him the whole special unit at his command, perfectly and neatly aligned, hears him listening. You notice the particular and meticulous care given to choreography: you go from the tiniest subjects up a little more than a daisy that are in the front row, to the last where you see giant squirrels from an estimated height of over seventy centimeters, you are thinking of being obtained from intersections with Australian kangaroos. It seems that everyone is indiscriminately equipped with sophisticated and miniature transceiver equipment.
At times, surprisingly, Lieutenant Catozzo proved to be a great expert in military matters.
- But ... you know my name too ... I'm so famous!
- We know Russian intelligence is very efficient. It is also evident that if they try to establish a contact with us, which I would say very singular, the least we can expect is that they know the life and miracles of our ship and almost all the crew.
- The Baltic fleet ... what are they doing here? And how did they enter the Mediterranean?
- Probably from Gibraltar
- And the sonars did not intercept them? Moreover, the Strait is ... it's ... it's so ... ... tight! And this "beast" is so big! .... They must have mistaken him for a sperm whale ...
- Probably it is a unit of the last generation just entered into service and in fact we have no news. It would seem that they are equipped with a stealth technology of which we do not know anything yet. Perhaps they are testing the invisibility to our sonar systems.
- Mmmhhhh .... agree. We give our availability. And we hope for good. To me, it almost seems like a trap.
The negotiation on the radio appears from the beginning hard and difficult. The Russians' first proposal to meet on the deck of the submarine immediately gets a clear rejection. At the counter-proposal of the Americans of a beer at the bar "Nasser" in Cairo, the counterpart opposes a dry "niet". After about three hours, the Lincoln shuttle boats winches come into operation: the parties will meet in the open sea on two boaters with aboard the commanders and an escort of twelve sailors per part.
The sea is only slightly rough, the sky is clear and the wind almost absent. The two boats are about ten meters away from each other when a large speaker mounted on the bow of the Russians begins to spread the first notes of the anthem of the Federation at high volume while the crew at attention intones the words.
- Damn, here it is! The usual figure of m ... And we do not even have a radiolabel!
- Sir, maybe we can still do it. I think I have memorized in the smartphone all past, present and future hymns of the United States Armed Forces.
The smile and the secure attitude of Lieutenant Catozzo reassures the commander.
- So, let's see a little ...
- Quickly Catozzo, we have to play the hymn just after the Russians finish!
- Yes, that's it, I think ...... ... here ... .explore files ... ..
- Fast, Catozzo!
- A lordly gentleman, I have not yet practiced with this weapon ... ..
The weapon in question is a latest generation Apple. At the end of a long negotiation it was bought a month ago on a Beirut port stall for 253 dollars, a real deal. Lieutenant Catozzo has not yet noticed that the apple Apple logo screened on the battery cover has the typical "bite" on the left rather than on the right, a clear sign of a Chinese clone.
- What do you prefer sir? Marina Hymn? Hymn of the States? Hymn…..
- Catozzo, they're ending !!!!!!!
The last notes coming out of the opposite market go out; but hesitant but with perfect timing the lieutenant presses the "Play" button and suddenly the small device starts to very high volume to spread the martial notes of the starter ....
"Vitti 'na crozza suuuupra lu cannuuuniiiii ... .."
And with unexpected reflexes, and with what could be termed a quick and definite "handshake" in tactical terms, Commander Williams flies the unlucky Apple at sea. The silence that follows is broken only by the waving of the waves. In the solemnity of the moment, Commander Vusky speaks:
- It is with great honor that I bring you greetings and welcome in the name of all the Russian people whom I represent here. I also bring you my personal best wishes for a serene continuation of your activity at sea, activities that are safe to carry out and carry out with great professionalism and balance and which we consider indispensable for international peace and security. I hope this meeting is the signal that will start a more and more intense collaboration and friendship between our peoples and our crews. And to seal this event I personally propose to you, Admiral Williams, a toast respecting the great Russian tradition of hospitality and solidarity.
Commander Williams had not noticed the small mahogany table on the Russian boat over which he was holding a tray with a bottle of vodka from 500 ml. and two already filled glasses. Not a drop of vodka had been poured thanks to the ingenious gyroscopic mechanism concealed in the base of the table. With great craftsmanship, a Russian crew member handles the tray first to the American commander, then to the Russian one. Both of them breathe the glasses. After the applause that follows Admiral Vusky again comes the word:
- I personally received this assignment from President Vladimir Vladimirovic Putin, who gives you his warmest greetings. This meeting was warmly welcomed by His Holiness Archbishop Kiril I, Patriarch of the Orthodox Church of Moscow and all the Russians who bless you and greet you. And it is for both of you to accept this modest memory made for the occasion and the fruit of the patient work of the glassmasters of the Smolensk region.
As if by magic, a splendid object about forty centimeters with an octagonal plan appears in the hands of the Russian commander. The supporting structure consists of a finely chiseled solid gold framework; on each of the brightly colored side panels are paintings alternately subject to civil character (the Kremlin, the Winter Palace of St. Petersburg, the aurora of Murmansk, the arboretum of Sochi) and sacred (Saints Cyril, Methodius, Leo and Macarius in the act of crowning Tsar Ivan the Great). The upper part develops as a cusp, also octagonal, depicting a starry sky and ending with a small ring also in solid gold. The surface of all the panels is finely perforated, likely to allow a light placed inside to escape illuminating a room and bring out the splendid enamel decorations.
Commander Vusky entrusts the object to the trembling hands of the American homologue, who, turning to Lieutenant Catozzo,
- This thing reminds me so much of the European story of that wooden horse, the horse ... .. of ... ..
A residual modesty prevents him from speaking the word, in respect of his grandfather Brennon's respect and his frequentations, the epic times of Seoul's "Sexy Bazooka".
The Russian commander took the following words:
- It is with joy in the heart that we have all lived through this historic moment. Wishing you a good navigation I commit myself personally and henceforth to no longer disturb your mission and your ... ..sonar.
With subtle irony she added the last word in a dull tone and barely concealed a mischievous smile.
The moment of farewell has come. The two crews are at attention and all salute militarily, except for some Americans who shake their little hands as seen under the shelters of the railway stations, while more than one cheek is furrowed by streams of sincere and copious tears of emotion. While the engines of the boats are buzzing softly they act as a soundtrack to the Kafka scene, from the inside of the precious enamelled object comes out a voice with a croaking tone:
"Spassibahhh dasvidanijaahhh ... ...... ...... ...... .spassibaahh."
