Few of them had even heard of Santa Claus or his sleigh ride. Many of them had difficulty sleeping because of nightmares. Visions of sugar plums did not dance in their heads. In fact, their nightly screams and moans were enough of an annoyance to Granny’s men that all cells had soundproofed walls.
In every cell, every orphan — from the oldest boy to the youngest girl — was surprised by the sight of a miniature boom tube appearing in his or her room. From these boom tubes flew toys for each and every child.
The children approached the toys uneasily. They wanted them but were afraid of what would happen should Granny discover them. When they worked up the nerve to pick them up, they discovered that along with each one was a note from Santa letting them know that these toys were magic and that no adult could see them. And true enough, each toy, from toy soldiers, to dolls, to stuffed bears, had its own bio-recognition chip masking it from eyes other than those of the children.
The End
Showcase: Santa Claws
The Christmas Rescue
by Drivtaan
When Santa Claws has to make an emergency, he receives help from a most incredible source.
***
Author’s note: All dialogue is translated from the Kitalian language for your reading pleasure, with the exception of the traditional Kitalian Christmas greeting. Enjoy.
***
“Mayday! Mayday!”
The distress call originated high in the Alpo Mountains of Northern Kitaly and was sent out in a multitude of languages, especially those of the surrounding countries. The white-bearded polar bear raised the mike to his muzzle, squeezed the button, and spoke again.
“This is Santa Claws,” he said, “and I’ve been forced to make an emergency landing. Please, can anyone hear me?” He paused a moment and waited for a response. When none came, he spoke again. “If anyone can hear me, I need help. If you help me, I can guarantee that your name will stay on the nice list for the next three years.”
Santa Claws released the button and climbed out of the SLEIGH1000. The second his black boots hit the snow, he saw what the problem was. The fuel line running to the number two engine had split, causing the engine to quit running. Without the heat from the engine to keep itself warm, it had quickly iced over. The polar bear liked the SLEIGH1000; it had sounded good on paper. No more traveling around the world at breakneck speed in an open sleigh freezing his fur to the roots, listening to the reindeer complaining about having to work overtime on the holiday, and having an inebriated penguin sidekick sing “Here Comes Peter Cottontail” over and over — if he’d just learn a Christmas carol or two. The SLEIGH1000 was supposed to change all of that. It was a vertical take-off and landing craft that provided an enclosed cabin area with heated seats and satellite radio, and there were no whining reindeer. Of course, they thought it was a fantastic idea as well, until they received their final paychecks accompanied by a nice bright pink slip. Looking at his situation now, Santa almost wished he could hear their grumbling one more time.
“Chingedy ching. Hee-haw, hee-haw.”
The polar bear’s head snapped around so fast that his red and white hat sailed off his head. As he looked around, trying to locate the source of the voice he had heard, he called out, “Buon Natale. Who’s there?”
“Buon Natale to you, Santa Claws,” a snow-covered figure pulling a sled said as it emerged from the mountain fog. “I am Dominick, and I’ve come to help you.”
Santa watched the figure toss back his jacket’s hood and brush the snow from his shoulders. With the hood removed, the polar bear could see that his rescuer was a young donkey.
“Not to sound ungrateful, “the polar bear said, “but why didn’t you answer my distress call and let me know you were coming?”
Dominick smiled. “I heard no distress call,” he said. “I was out gathering wood for my fire when I heard your craft going down. I grabbed the sled in case someone was injured and came as quick as I could.”
“How close is your home?” Santa asked. “I’ve only been on the ground for about ten minutes.”
“My home is about twenty miles that way,” Dominick said, pointing back the way he’d came.
The polar bear’s mouth dropped open. “You actually traveled through these mountains, under these conditions, at two miles a minute?”
“I would have been here quicker,” the donkey replied, “but I was afraid if I ran at top speed I would miss you.”
Santa Claws was amazed.
“So,” Dominick said, taking a look at the downed SLEIGH1000, “what happened?”
The polar bear pointed to the problem and explained what had happened. “I need to get it repaired as soon as possible,” he said, “so I can finish delivering the Christmas presents.”
Dominick thought for a second, then said, “My uncle likes to tinker with things; maybe he can help.”
“Do you think he would know what to do?” Santa asked.
“It’s possible,” the donkey said. “You want I go get him?”
“If you think he could help,” Santa replied. “How far away does he live?”
“He lives in my village,” Dominick said.
The polar bear started to nod. Before he had a chance to actually say anything, the young donkey was gone. Echoing through the surrounding mountains, Santa could hear Dominick’s unusual call.
“Chingedy ching. Hee-haw, hee-haw.”
The final “haw” had scarcely died away when Santa heard it again.
Dominick skidded to a stop beside Santa, and an older donkey climbed off his back. The bear could only stare in amazement.
“I knew where I was going,” the young donkey said with a grin.
“Buon Natale,” the older donkey said, extending a gloved hoof to Santa. “I am Giuseppe, Dominick’s uncle.”
Santa readily accepted the hoof and shook it warmly. “Thank you for coming. “Do you think you can fix it?”
Giuseppe walked over to the SLEIGH1000 and began to look it over. After a moment, he nodded. “It shouldn’t take more than a couple hours,” he said, “although you will need some fuel to replace what was lost.”
Santa was relieved that it could be fixed, but was somewhat dismayed at the time that would be lost doing so. Giuseppe could tell what he was thinking by the look on his face.
“Why not let Dominick help you with your deliveries while I fix this?” the older donkey asked.
“Sure,” Dominick said. “I’d be glad to help.”
Santa looked at the anxious Dominick and then at the SLEIGH1000. “How much ground could we cover while this is being fixed?”
The young donkey thought for a moment. “I’ve never tried it, but I think we could get all of Kitaly.”
Santa Claws thought for a second. It was only a little less of an area that he would have covered on his own.
“If we have any time left when we are finished,” Dominick said, “we might pick up a few towns on the way back.”
The polar bear liked the young donkey’s spirit. “All right, then. We’ll give it a shot.”
As Giuseppe began going through his toolbox, Santa Claws and Dominick began transferring the gifts for the Kitalians and a few extra, just in case, from the SLEIGH1000 to the sled Dominick had brought.
Santa took his place on the sled and was ready to go when Giuseppe motioned for his nephew to wait. He picked Santa’s forgotten hat up and handed it to him.
“We can’t have Father Christmas making his rounds without this,” he said.
Santa placed it firmly on his head. “Thank you,” he said. “Expect a little something extra in your stocking.”
Giuseppe blushed. “Buon Natale,” was all he said before turning back to his work.
“Ready, Santa?” Dominick asked.
“Whenever you are,” came the jolly reply.
And in an instant, they were gone.
It was a ride that Santa Claws never forgot. Dominick ran through the snow at such a great speed that the sle
d’s rails barely touched the ground. Not only did they visit every house and home in Kitaly, but the small kingdom of Monacow received its gifts during this very special trip.
By the time they had returned to where Santa had made the crash landing, Giuseppe was placing his tools back in his toolbox. After Santa and Dominick poured a couple cans of fuel into the tanks that they had picked up at a Gran Prix garage, the SLEIGH1000 was soon ready to go.
Santa Claws thanked his two new friends and then climbed back into his craft. And as he took to the air and flew out of sight, the two donkeys could hear the polar bear’s voice singing over the loudspeakers, “Chingedy ching. Hee-haw, hee-haw!”
Buon Natale to you all.
The End
Justice League of America
Justice League of America
by Immortalwildcat
During 1987′s alien invasion, the people of Syracuse, New York, were killed by an alien bomb. This Christmas, Firestorm gets a little help from his friends in the JLA to pay his respects.
***
December 24th, 1987:
“It’s been wonderful, guys, but I really need to get back to Coast City. Carol’s invited over some friends for a little get-together this evening.” In the Justice League satellite, Green Lantern stepped toward the teleporter. “I’ll see you all at the wedding next week.”
“You betcha, Hal!” Green Arrow lifted his cap for a second. “Tell Carol hi for me.”
“I have to go, too. Kristin wants an old-fashioned Christmas celebration with Jasma.”
It was a little after seven o’clock Eastern time, and the JLA’s annual Christmas get-together was breaking up. As most of the members departed, Aquaman and the Martian Manhunter conferred in the monitor room.
“Are you sure? Didn’t you take the Christmas Eve midnight shift last year?”
“Actually, around this time last year our daughter Nautica was born, and I took some time off with Mera and the baby. (*) Anyway, of course I’m sure, J’onn.” A broad smile crossed Aquaman’s face. “I heard Nubia mention that she arranged for the two of you to help out at one of the orphanages in New Orleans in the morning. Christmas has little meaning in Atlantis, so I don’t mind taking the late shift.”
[(*) Editor's note: See Aquaman: Bride's Head Revisited.]
“It never before held any meaning for me, either, old friend, but now…” The smile on the alien’s face was plain to see. “Life has become much more interesting with Nubia in it.”
“Well, I’m going to head out now, but I’ll be back by ten sharp to relieve you, and you can have the rest of the night to spend with her. But for now, just enjoy the rest of the party! Christmas Eves are usually quiet, anyway.” Aquaman waved him out into the larger meeting room.
In one corner of the meeting room, Firestorm stood speaking with Batman. “I appreciate the invite, but I don’t know that I’d fit in all that well, and–”
“Don’t let it bother you. You’re both invited.” Batman took the younger hero’s hand in his. “And a Merry Christmas, Ronnie. And Happy Chanukah, Martin.”
Flustered for a few seconds, Firestorm finally responded. “Thank you, and he says to tell you thank you, too.”
After Batman left, Firestorm approached Zatanna. “Umm, look, Zee, I know it’s the holiday and all, but are you by any chance available tonight?”
“You mean…? Of course. No show tonight, and I don’t really have anybody to go home to.”
“Then let’s go.”
***
Cold winds whipped the skies over central New York. Below, an unnatural valley glistened under the moonlight. Throughout, the beginnings of roads and even a few buildings were evident. And around the edges, something more.
“Edward Zarcross.”
Firestorm pointed, and there was a brief flash below. “Got it.”
“Anne Zelznick. Anne with an E.”
“Spell the last name?”
“Z-E-L-Z-N-I-C-K.”
Another flash. “Got it.” Down below, near the edge of the valley, the name Anne Zelznick appeared on a low stone wall. Around the valley in fifty-foot sections with large gaps in between, similar walls each bearing five hundred names stood.
“Martin Zoeller.”
“Got it.”
“That’s it.”
Firestorm turned to look at the attractive woman in blue and white floating near him. “All of them?”
“Three-hundred, twenty-six-thousand, two-hundred-and-eighty-four. That’s all I can find traces of,” answered Zatanna.
“Then it’s done.” Firestorm gestured, there was a burst of sparkling light, and a bench appeared near the final section of the wall. He settled down onto it, as did the lady magician with him. “All of them dead because of me.”
“Ronald, that is not true, and you know it. You weren’t even near here when Syracuse was targeted.”
“I should have known the bomb coming down in Chicago was a dud, a distraction. I could have tagged the League teleporter and gotten here in time.”
Nonsense, Ronald. Everybody involved thought they were bombing Chicago. Nobody knew this was the real target, and nobody can outrace an energy beam. (*) The mental voice of Professor Martin Stein echoed in Firestorm’s head.
[(*) Editor's note: See DC Universe: Invasion, Book 2: Battleground Earth, Chapter 1: Warworld.]
“Well, regardless, I thought it was only right they have not a tombstone, I guess, but something folks could remember them by as Syracuse rebuilds.”
“It was a good idea, Ronald. Will you let the rest of the League know about it now?”
“I suppose so. Look, thanks, Zee, for your help. Without your magic to draw the names of the dead from the afterlife, or spirits lingering here or whatever, I could never have done this. I know you have a busy schedule and all, so I really appreciate it.”
“As I said, Ronald, it was a good idea. I’m glad I could help.”
“Well, I guess I should head out and let Professor Stein get home to bed.” Firestorm looked over at Zatanna. “If you aren’t doing anything, I think I’ve got some hot chocolate mix and some Christmas cookies from my roommate’s mother back at the apartment.”
Zatanna laughed, a musical sound in the cold night air. “Believe it or not, that’s the best offer I’ve had for Christmas this year.”
The End
Our Army at War
Silent Night Patrol
by Drivtaan
“Silent Night” is one of the world’s most well-known Christmas carols. But it takes on new meaning when seen through the eyes of an American soldier on patrol one Christmas Eve.
***
Silent night.
I listen, but all I hear is the silence of my brothers. It’s funny how easy it is to think of these guys as my brothers. We have so few things in common — the uniform we wear, our vow to defend the Constitution, our commitment to keep America free, the color of the blood that we are willing to shed to accomplish these goals — these are the things that bind us closer than a number of families I know.
Jacobs is the new guy, our little brother; he’s nervous. For the past twenty minutes, he’s done nothing but stare into the mountain-filled darkness and thumb the safety on his rifle. Yeah, it’s annoying, but we’ve all been there.
Sanchez has been here for almost nine months — this time. His first three trips weren’t much different than his current tour of duty, with one exception; this time, he’s a bonafide U.S. citizen. His lips are moving, although he makes no sound. He is singing our national anthem.
The others — Andrews, McGuire, Dyess — are all watching and listening, waiting for something to happen.
Oh, yeah. I almost forgot about Hillbilly. How he can manage to sleep at a time like this is beyond me. He’s snoring softly now, but you can bet when it all hits the fan, he’ll be wide awake and one of the first to start laying down fire.
It’s almost too quiet.
Holy night.
There
’s not much that is holy about war. Despite our enemy’s claim that this is a holy war, it is nothing more than an assault on civilization, because they are jealous of our freedom. In the midst of such bloodshed, it’s hard to imagine God being on anyone’s side. Still, He isn’t too far away. Few of us want to pal around with a chaplain, despite his inside pull, but once the mortars start falling like hail, he can become a very popular fellow.
You’d be surprised at how many guys decide to give God a try, especially after a battle, or even right before, come to think about it. I’ve watched chaplains drag out a makeshift bathtub and baptize soldiers so that they would be all right with the Man Upstairs in case something happened to them. When they went home, a fair number them seemed to forget God, content to leave Him here in the mountains — almost like they were keeping Him here in case they were sent back.
A few did take Him home with them, and vice versa.
All is calm.
It’s like the calm before the storm. You can feel the tension in the air. To a man, it’s like we’re on pins and needles. Well, with the exception of Hillbilly — snoozing away.
I feel my own pulse, and it’s like my heart is running a marathon. Of all the combat fatalities, I wonder — how many can be attributed to heart failure just prior to a battle? Despite the chill in the air, a bead of sweat is snaking its way down the side of my face.
All is bright.
Realistically, none of us are certain we even have a future. But we hope, we dream, of one that is bright. We wake up every day and dress for war, all the while hoping for peace.
A bright future of peace. You’d be surprised at how many people truly want that. Most of the people in these mountains want that for themselves, for their children. That’s why we are here, or, at least, one of the reasons. If we can rid the world of those who are content with nothing less than the slaughter of innocents, then these people can have the peace they want. If we could just get them to fight for it as well.
Imagine a future where our children, or our children’s children, have to ask, “What is war?” And we could honestly tell them it’s nothing they need to worry about.
Round yon virgin.
It’s funny the thoughts that pop into your head at a time like this. Jacobs, with his constant worrying of his rifle’s safety; he’s the closest thing to a virgin we’ve got. He’s never been in battle, and until he hit basic training, he probably never even fired a gun. Still, he’s a smart kid. No, let me change that, Jacobs is a wise kid. He has listened to the men and women who’ve walked a mile in his boots and done his best to absorb everything they’ve had to teach him. It’s a shame he has to lose his “virginity” like this.