AK 239: The Enemy Is Already Here

I peer through a large gaping hole on the side of the hollowed out log.

“Looks like it. All right I’ll swim back to the boat and try to use the radio.”

Jennifer says, “Too bad we don’t have on our blueberries.”

She’s referring to the most hated uniforms in the U.S. military. Fortunately, I heard they’re permanently retiring those dogs.

“We could a used those uniforms. They’d have been the perfect camouflage when we fell overboard.”

No sooner had I said that then both boats explode. Demolitions placed on both hulls sink them right where they sit.

I say sarcastically, “Well there goes Captain Jack and The Black Pearl!

Jennifer wasn’t laughing so I continue,

“I got texts coming into the bay. If I could swim there, I could text help.”

Jennifer: “How far out were you when you had service?”

“About two miles.”

And how far did you swim with me?”

I then had to stupidly act macho, “Hey, we had to do five and a half miles in SEAL training.”

“Coronado?” she sarcastically asks.

“Ya!” I confidently answer.

“Ya, that water was probably thirty degrees warmer!” she points out.

I grind my teeth and force out, “I’m sure it was.”

I pull my iPhone 7 out again and say,

“It’s working but no cell service.”

“They can’t jam the entire mountain. If we can get up higher on Bokan you might have cell service,” says Jennifer. “See if you can get hold of some of their communications or at least a first aid kit.” Jennifer looks to the sunken boats.

“They sunk mine!”

Not showing any sign of worry I say,

“Stay here. I’ll see if I can find you a big bottle of hydrogen peroxide.”

Jennifer, “Okay, but I have dinner plans tonight.”

“Of course you do, darling, as soon as I take care of Boris and Boris, I’m takin’ you out!”

I went running off into the woods like a chicken with my head cut off thinking,

I can’t let this woman die!

Oh God, please don’t let her die!

Moscow — TV-12 Studio

Olga Kasparov’s Diary

^{Christmas Eve}

I adjusted my blouse as I sat in front of the most powerful man in my country, President Ivan Mironovich. Several people from makeup to wardrobe were very attentive to the President while no one paid any attention to me.

“Thirty sekund!” yelled the floor director. The makeup and wardrobe people went scrambling off camera.

During our darkest days under the iron fisted rule of the old Soviet Union I worked for the state controlled newspaper: “Pravda” which is Russian for “Truth.”

The joke among dissidents at that time was:

There is no Pravda in Pravda!

It was probably twenty years before I was finally able to laugh at the joke.

Us, in “the older generation” can remember the days when bread, cigarettes and Vodka were ‘free’ but you’d have to stand in long lines, sometimes for hours and hours, for the “free” stuff.

I was a loyal party member in those days and was glad when those days came to a screeching halt in 1991. Being a die-hard Communist, I was upset at first but eventually came around to see the fall of Communism in Russia was best for almost everyone.

Almost everyone, that is, but the very well connected.

However, even the well-connected today are far wealthier than they ever were prior to 1991.

In those days, communism worked but only for the party faithful, everyone else was in a line.

Here’s another old Soviet joke:

A boy asks:

Mama, where is papa?

Answer: He’s in line for a coupon… to get some coupons.

At least with some capitalism there are many more jobs and no food lines.

The press was much more free. Free until the man I’m sitting with became president.

The young are now romanticizing the good old days, which were never really that good.

The reason, in part, for the romanticization is because of our government run school system. It makes the USSR sound so much better in a colorful book.

Also, there are many, many government agencies that have been created to “inform” and “educate” the Russian people.

This used to be called propaganda but now it’s called “communication.”

My favorite government agency:

“The Ministry of Communications and Mass Media.”

Older folks, like me, not closely connected to the old Communist Party knew better than to believe in most government “communication.”

“Five seconds,” the floor director yelled. “Four, three…”

I pause, focus and take a deep breath, while waiting for the little red light,

“Good evening and welcome to Russia Tonight. I’m Olga Kasparov and first I wish each and every person a very happy Christmas. With me tonight is a very special guest, the President, Ivan Mironovich. Thank you so much for taking time to speak with your fellow countrymen.”

“No problem. Glad to be here, Ms. Kasparov,” replied the very well dressed president.

I tried flirting a little:

“Please call me Olga!”

That did not go over as well as I hoped.

Ivan just stares at me as if: Just read the questions I gave your boss!

I uncomfortably look to the teleprompter understanding exactly Ivan’s unspoken words.