The War on Christmas

Twas several nights before Christmas and all through the mall
Not a creature was stirring, not even a… narwhal…

There was no question about it; that verse would need a second draft. Special agent Devon Sugarplum of K.R.I.N.G.L.E. idly pondered whether he might have time to work on rewrites when this current mission was over. He already knew the answer. This was his busy season after all: from Black Friday to the big day itself was nothing but missions like these.

As he and his fellow agents moved toward the exit at the far end of the mall while scoping for any additional targets besides that idiotic celebrate solstice display they had just vandalized, Devon saw a flash of green movement in the window of a nearby Spencer’s and held up his fist. His entire squad knelt, the elves among them taking up positions on the flanks. Devon stared at the green thing that moved, his finger curling around the trigger and ready to squeeze.

“Animatronic tree!” Hissed Alvaro, laughing through his teeth as the squad untensed. Devon squinted through his MP-5’s sights and saw that it was indeed a dancing Christmas tree which some employee had neglected to switch off.

“Careful there, boss,” said Sergeant Gingersnap, an elf whose marksmanship was as lethal as his sense of humor. “We don’t want to light up a friendly.”

The rest of the squad chuckled and Agent Sugarplum even cracked a smile. Half of this bunch were recent recruits fresh from training. They didn’t know how fast it could happen, how quickly the war could suddenly materialize in situations just like this. Instinctively Devon scanned their surroundings and spotted several cement planters that could work as cover, should the need arise.

A terrifying bang suddenly echoed through the mall and Devon dropped to the floor. Gingersnap followed suit and Devon turned his head to check on Alvaro. For a brief, happy moment, he thought that Alvaro had successfully dove to the ground as well. In less than half a second, that relief was gone, fleeing from Devon’s mind like the blood that now poured from the gaping hole in Alvaro’s head.

“Cover now!” Agent Sugarplum shouted, rolling toward the nearest cement planter as a shower of bullets filled the air. His eardrums tensed with the boom of each quick burst of automatic fire and he looked up toward the second-story balcony, quickly spotting the telltale green fur-covered heads of K.R.I.N.G.L.E.’s mortal enemy. Grinches.

His squad was getting shredded, over half of them dead or wounded within seconds. Gingersnap was huddled beneath a bench tending to a wounded arm while the others were scrambling and rolling toward the stores, hoping to find shelter within. The firing stopped, the silence and scent of burnt cordite lingering in the air like relatives who don’t know when to leave. A shuffle of feet above them confirmed enough for Devon that their enemies were repositioning.

“Snap!” Devon hissed to the wounded elf. “Can you run?”

“Like Rudolph,” Gingersnap said, wrapping a torn bit of his shirt around the bullet wound in his forearm.

“Anyone still alive: on my signal, take cover in Spencer’s!” Devon shouted, peeking over the rim of the planter at the stairwell door opposite the novelty gift store where he believed the green demons were about to emerge. He removed a peppermint grenade from his belt, pulled the pin, and waited. Through the tiny window of the stairwell door, he spotted a tuft of green fur. His muscles tensed with anticipation as the door banged open.

“Go!” Devon shouted, tossing the grenade so that it rolled between the legs of the first grinch who tried to leap away. There was a pop, followed by the demonic moans of grinches as their bodies were shredded by peppermint shrapnel.

The others arrived at the gift shop first and broke windows to gain entry. Agent Sugarplum cinched the strap of his MP5 to secure it to his chest. He sprinted for the shelter of Spencer’s Gifts. Gunfire split the air behind him, ricocheting against the storefront. There was no way to go except forward. With every ounce of speed he could muster, he dove through the broken shop window as bullets whizzed past his head.

He landed hard on the floor and rolled over, pistols drawn and ready to spray lead into anyone dumb enough to walk in the front door.

“Devon!” Shouted Flake, popping his head up from behind a gaudy rotating cigar dispenser. “You made it! Way to–“

A boom erupted from somewhere in front of the shop followed by a spray of blood and brains. Flake’s limp body tumbled to the floor next to Devon, blood pooling from the poor little elf’s skull as his eyes stared lifelessly and his grin faded into a gawking death mask.

“Keep your fucking heads down, in the name of Saint Nick!” Shouted Gingersnap. Devon looked to where the elf had called from; a circular clothing rack packed with novelty tees from which the barrel of his sniper rifle just barely emerged.

Get up, get up! Devon switched his MP5 to 3-round burst as he rolled onto his stomach and combat-crawled with his knees and elbows until he came to the swinging doors that led behind the counter. In a smooth movement, he rolled onto his back, kicked his legs up and rolled to his left straight through the swinging doors.

A shot erupted from the clothing rack, followed by Gingersnap’s familiar cackle. Then three more shots.

“Got two of ’em!” The elf cheered. “They won’t be eating breakfast tomorrow!”

Devon did his usual checks as he made his way, low and slow, to the part of the counter that faced the entrance. His magazine had fifteen rounds left. Half-empty, he throught. Then, reminding himself that Christmas was no time to be a negative nelly, he corrected himself. Half-full.

Three more shots rang from Gingersnap’s rifle and his giggle indicated that at least one had been successful. Devon took a centering breath and propped his weapon on the counter, slowly coming up behind it and sweeping for what he could see from the bullet-riddled store entrance. There were three of those green bastards left, huddled behind a large concrete planter which was also pock-marked with bullets. Devon sighted a green tuft of hair, just poking up above the rim. He quickly switched his weapon to SEMI and waited for the tuft to appear just a little larger. He took slow, even breaths and steadied himself.

Just as he was about to take his shot, a whump! sounded from behind the planter and something flew through the air. A canister landed just behind Flake’s bloody corpse; smoke poured from its circular ends at an alarming rate. The smell made Devon gag. Rotten banana.

“Aaaaaaaaaaaaahhhh!” shouted Tannenbaum, the last elf standing besides Gingersnap by Devon’s recokoning. The long, extended shout was growing louder and Devon turned in time to see the wee fellow charging as quick as his tiny legs could carrry him toward the smoking canister. He was two feet from it when the first bullet struck him in the shoulder.

“Aaaaaaaaaaaaahhhh!” His arm flailed briefly behind him but he charged on. The second round struck him in the hip and he stumbled, almost losing his footing entirely. This one forced him to pause, blood gushing from his wounds as he glared intently at the canister. He screamed his battle cry once more before running the last three steps and kicking the can, causing it to fly perfectly through the doorway.

It was a short-lived victory. The grinches unleashed a cascade of hot lead into Tannenbaum’s body and he quickly slumped forward and landed aside poor Flake. Devon peered through his scope. The green tuft he had been focusing on had ducked behind cover. The cannister which Tannenbaum had given his life to deflect had landed between them and the grinches. We can’t see them, but they can’t see us either.

Almost immediately after Tannenbaum fell, two more smoke grenades flew in quick succession through the broken display window and empty doorway.

“Get to the back!” Gingersnap shouted, hauling ass past Devon as he shouldered his rifle. “Move it, Sugarplum, before they get their nightvision strapped on!”

Devon sprinted, praying the thick smoke would be enough cover for him to safely run in the open like this. He passed the sergeant on his way and they took cover behind some large arcade games, unplugging them first so that their displays didn’t give away their positions.

“This is your work,” a gravelly voice cooed through the smoke, “isn’t it, Gingersnap?”

“Eat shit, grinch!” The sergeant responded, flipping a switch on his scope which Devon knew turned on its nightvision. He had done the same for his MP5 while hustling back here without realizing it.

“We’re not here for you, fascist,” the grinch responded, still not visible through the billowing rotten-banana smoke. “We’re here for Devon.”

“Just come a little closer,” Devon replied, adjusting the light frequency on his scope to see if screwing with the levels might better penetrate the billowing smoke. “I’ll be happy to introduce myself.”

Devon thought he saw something move but couldn’t be sure. He reset the light frequency back to where it had been originally and subtly switched his weapon to BURST.

“Why do you fight for the Kringle, Devon?” The grinch who seeemd to be the leader asked him. “What do you care if someone celebrates Hannukah or Solstice or Saturnalia, for that matter?”

“People can celebrate whatever they like,” Devon said, slowing his breath as he felt his heart pound harder. “But if it’s not Christmas, they should keep it to themselves and stop expecting the rest of us to care.”

“Show yourself, coward!” Gingersnap shouted. “Let me put one in your skull like I did to your friends!”

“Don’t worry, Ginger. We will deal with you soon enough.”

It occurred to Devon that the grinch commander’s voice didn’t sound panicked or worried in the least. He felt his heart begin to race as he realized they probably already had the two of them sighted. So why don’t they attack?

“You’re probably wondering why we don’t attack,” the grinch said. Whoa, freaky. He continued, “What if I told you that your entire life has been a lie, Mr. Sugarplum? That the K.R.I.N.G.L.E. organization stole you from your parents and brainwashed you into believing we killed them?”

“I’d have to put you on the naughty list for lying, Mr. Grinch,” Devon said, ducking behind the machine and curling his fingers around one of the peppermint grenades from his belt. “I know what happened to my parents – I remember washing their blood off my hands. I remember Santa coming down the chim-“

“Down the chimney,” the grinch matched Devon’s words perfectly and continued, “and telling you that he couldn’t bring your parents back, but that you could help him make sure that this didn’t happen to anyone else ever again?”

Okay, Devon thought, stuffing the grenade back into his belt. This is getting weird.

“How do you know that?” Devon demanded, looking to Gingersnap for reassurance. To his sudden disappointment, he noticed that the sergeant elf was sweating and blinking rapidly, as if suffering an anxiety attack. Gingersnap noticed Devon’s gaze had turned upon him and seemed to snap out of whatever trance had possessed him.

“Grinches lie,” Gingersnap said, glancing furtively toward Devon as he stumbled over his words. “Don’t listen to them, Devon… they’re just… trying… to confuse you.”

“When you said that people can celebrate as they like,” the grinch continued, his voice now smooth with confidence, “as long as they keep it to themselves and don’t expect anyone to care… I have to ask, Devon, does that seem like it’s in keeping with the spirit of the holiday? If Christmas is about kindness, then why does the guy with a red suit and a god complex insist on squeezing out those who choose to celebrate differently?”

Something about this question bit deep into Devon’s heart. It sounded familiar… as if he had asked this question himself many times before. Memories suddenly flooded into his mind. He heard himself asking Santa why Christmas needed enforcers and then suddenly his head was being held under ice water and he was trying to scream and there was a chair they strapped him to and forced him to watch disturbing images as they sang carols and fed him sugar cookies.

“Devon!” Gingersnap shouted. “You have to fight it! The grinch is lying, you can’t believe anything he’s saying! You can trust me!”

Another memory suddenly dislodged itself and filled Devon’s mind. His parents had told him to hide in a cupboard when the intruders came but he had peaked out, just a little, and saw what happened. He had always remembered the attackers who brutally murdered his parents as grinches – green-furred and smelly – but now in this moment of clarity he recalled at last the full truth. The assailants who killed his parents were only a little taller than he was at the time. He had faced the grinches countless times since. They were tall and slender, not short and stocky.

“Get your head together, soldier!” Gingersnap shouted.

“Is it true, ‘snap?” Devon felt his eyes fill with warm tears.

The elf paused and his eyes moved back and forth as if he were trying to accomplish a difficult math problem without the benefit of a calculator. A tear rolled down his weathered cheek. He gave Devon a hard, cold gaze and then raised his rifle, its muzzle aimed directly between Devon’s eyes.

Bang!

The elf slumped to the side, gore spilling out of his temples like the filling from an overstuffed fruit pie. Devon gasped and struggled to catch his breath. Icy panic ripped thorugh his veins as his mind grappled with reality. Did his best friend really just try to kill him? Were the grinches really on the right side in this never-ending war? His mind was flooded with questions but then he stumbled upon a thought that made him feel truly sick.

What about all the horrible things he had done? What about the thousands of holiday displays he had ruined, the dozens of grinches he had killed, and three community leaders he had threatened when they pressed their city to stop promoting a nativity scene outside of city hall? I didn’t know, I didn’t know…

Or did he?

Hadn’t he felt something wrong deep in the pit of his gut for years? Hadn’t he become skilled in suppressing that mysterious guilt, bottling it up like new years champagne until now, the moment it was ready to burst? Perhaps part of him had known… he couldn’t be sure.

“I know this is a lot!” the grinch’s voice called out and snapped him back to reality. He peered up from over the edge of the arcade game to see that all three grinches were now standing before him, weapons at their sides. “You’re going to be okay, Devon, just trust us.”

He spotted movement over one of the grinch’s shoulders and for a moment he tensed. It was greenish, but not quite their shade of green. It had shades of red and sparkled a little as well – what was it? He let out a short chuckle as he recognized it. The dancing christmas tree he had nearly blown away was still dancing, having apparently survived the ambush. The tree survived; perhaps Christmas would survive as well.

Devon glanced at Gingersnap’s lifeless body, his dead eyes staring into oblivion, and something inside him broke like a cheap candy cane. He stood and raised his rifle in a smooth motion and put three rounds straight through the nearest grinch’s head. The middle one caught three in the chest and the last one was sprayed haphazardly as he tried to run toward the counter for cover. He whimpered on the ground, his calf bleeding and his side gushing from a wound he now laid upon.

Devon approached with caution, remembering how many squad mates he had lost to wounded enemies. He fired another burst, putting three through the creature’s upper back. Then, for good measure he put another three through its head.

“You leaky sack of spoiled egg nog,” came the middle grinch’s voice. Devon knew that voice; he was the leader. “We were trying to help you.”

Devon felt a twinge of guilt at the truth of the monster’s words. He suppressed the sensation with the skill of a seasoned practicioner.

“I didn’t ask for your help,” Devon said, taking aim at the creature’s head and squeezing the trigger. His MP5 gave a single, hollow clack. The grinch smiled and laughed, blood already trickling from his mouth. The poor bastard didn’t have long. Still, it felt wrong to Devon not to send him off personally.

Agent Sugarplum removed a peppermint grenade from his belt and pulled the pin, holding the spoon in place so he could hold it above his head and let the grinch see what was coming. It felt like the right moment for some parting words, so he quoted the first Christmas movie that came to mind.

“Merry Christmas, you filthy animal,” he said, bringing his arm back as he prepared to toss the incendiary straight into his enemy’s lap. With a speed he didn’t think the wounded creature capable of, the grinch suddenly pulled a small pistol from his belt.

Devon’s chest exploded in pain as the three rounds struck home. He fell to his knees, weakness flooding into him like the icy water had flooded into his nostrils all the times the elves had to force him to forget a memory. His fingers went slack and the grenade slipped from his grasp. The grinch chuckled.

“And a happy new year, too,” the monster said, choking on his own blood as he tried to cackle. There arose a sudden, violent smell of peppermint as the grenade erupted and shredded what little remained of the two broken soldiers. Devon’s last sensation was one of regret – not about his present circumstance, but that he would never get to finish his rhyme.