Free Holding Their Own: The Toymaker by Joe Nobody

much that his thoughts were temporarily distracted from his son.
    “Would all of you fucking mother hens get the hell out of my face?” he growled. “I’m just fine, thank you. I dropped a glass for Christ’s sake. Can’t a man be clumsy every now and then without it being a national emergency?”
    The triad was interrupted by the arrival of a junior officer caring a laptop computer.
    “I don’t think it’s a good time to listen to this transmission,” someone said, but the president would have none of it.
    The chief executive, surrounded by staff, huddled over the computer’s small speakers, his experienced ear dissecting every word and sound. Three times he asked that the recording be paused and rewound.
    When it was over, he stared up at the general and said, “I admit that it sounds like my son was badly wounded or killed, but there’s no proof. I assume he will be listed as missing in action?”
    “Yes, Mr. President, that is standard procedure.”
    The POTUS rose from his perch, ambling to the fireplace with a blank expression. After a bit, he spoke, his voice filled with the ice of revenge, “If the Alliance is to blame for this tragedy, I will personally lead the 4 th Infantry Division right into Alpha and kick their sorry asses.”     
    Not a single person in the room doubted his words.
    Realizing he was on the edge of appearing vengeful and out of control, the president forced down the rage that threatened to boil over. “And, we need to get a team into Los Alamos pronto. Right now. If someone is playing empire-builder in that part of the nation, I want that nuclear material out of their reach.”
    “Yes, Mr. President,” acknowledged the general.
    “One last thing, gentlemen, I will inform my grandchildren about their father as soon as more facts are known. I want to do this personally. No one is to breathe a word of this to them. Is that understood?”
    After the chorus of “Yes, sir,” and “Of course, Mr. President,” died down, all of the visitors quickly filed out of the room, leaving a man who suddenly found himself feeling more like a helpless father than a powerful leader.
     

    Grissom was sure he’d died in battle and been cast into hell.
    Overcoming the throbbing behind his temples, the sergeant struggled to open his eyes. There, lurking a short distance away, was surely a demon.
    The evil being possessed the shape of a man, but that’s where the resemblance ended. White streaks of ash crisscrossed its face; bones were braided in the beast’s dark mane.
    Unable to look away, Grissom squinted to clear his vision. Since when do the devil’s troopers carry AR15s? his aching, confused brain managed to wonder. And wear wristwatches?
    The Apache standing guard over the prisoner sensed his charge was awake. Stepping closer to examine the bound captive, the tall warrior strode to the door and barked a few words to his superior.
    Grissom was again confused when another mythical figure appeared. This time the apparition seemed more like an angel than a fiend, its flowing white hair and kind eyes in stark contrast to the other creature in the room.
    “Sergeant Grissom, I presume?” Hack asked.
    “Yes,” the PJ croaked. “Am I dead?”
    “No, not yet,” came the honest response. “Are you in much pain?”
    “Yes,” the soldier replied as he began gingerly testing his limbs.
    “You have a stab wound just below your left shoulder blade, but it has stopped bleeding. I did my best to bandage it. I hope you’ll pardon my sloppy work. Your right shoulder is severely bruised. But the worst of it is the blow you suffered to the back of your head. That had me concerned.”
    Grissom’s medical training took over, “Do you have any aspirin? There’s some in my med-kit if you don’t. It would help to thin the blood.”
    Hack produced a bottle of water and two tablets from his jacket pocket, and proceeded to help the bound man swallow and drink. “So you’re a Para rescuer. I’ve