“Sounds like Jonsey and Pops are talking football again. You know, a damn war could break out, and those two would still be carrying on about whether or not the Bears’ defense was overrated.”
Graham chuckled at this and sat down on one of the bamboo bar stools while his Yank drinking companion walked behind the self-service bar, donned an apron, and asked in his best imitation cockney accent.
“What will it be, mate?”
“A hot buttered rum would certainly warm the cockles of my heart,” answered Graham.
“Sounds good to me. In fact, I’ll join you. Two of Doc Stanfield’s famous hot rum toddy’s on the way.”
While the American expertly mixed their drinks, Graham glanced up at the series of nine-inch-long, rectangularly shaped bones that were hung on the wall just above the mural. There were two dozen altogether. Though their scientific name was Ussuk, the natives knew them simply as walrus penis bones.
Looking down to lose himself in the mural, the Canadian admired the stretch of pure white sand, the crystal blue water, palm trees, and the distinctive volcanic formation known as Diamond Head. He had never been to Hawaii, but as soon as his orders arrived transferring him from Polestar, he promised himself that his first extended leave would take him straight to the exquisite tropical setting displayed on the wall before him.
From the other side of the bar, Jim Stanfield noted the forlorn expression that was etched on the young Canadian’s innocent face as he studied the mural. He had seen this same look before, and made certain to pour a bit more of the dark Virgin Island rum into his coworker’s mug. He topped this off with a half-cup of hot water, a dash of cinnamon, some cloves, and a dab of rich butter.
“Bottom’s up, mate,” interrupted the Yank as he picked up his own mug in toast.
Suddenly brought back to reality, Graham solemnly reached out for his drink.
“Now come on, lad. Things can’t be as bad as all that,” reflected the American. “Just think, we could have been left out in this icebox without a drop of booze to console us. Now that would be serious!”
Graham couldn’t help but laugh at this innocent statement, and seeing this, Jim Stanfield added.
“That’s more like it. Now are you just going to sit there, or are you going to try some of my magical elixir that’s guaranteed to cure what ails you?”
The Canadian lifted up the white enamel mug, took an appreciative sniff of the fragrant steam rising from its golden surface, and toasted.
“To your health, my friend.”
“And to yours,” returned the American, who raised his mug to his lips and took a cautious sip. Instantly liking what he tasted, his rugged face lit up in a full smile.
“This is just what the doctor ordered. Finish this baby off, and I promise you that those homesick blues will be gone.”
“How did you know that I was homesick?” questioned Graham, in between sips of his toddy.
The American winked.
“I don’t know, lad. Just call it an educated guess. May I ask where you were stationed when you got the orders sending you on your way to Polestar?”
“I was in Esquimalt, British Columbia,” Graham answered directly.
“I know the place,” replied the Yank. “Me and the wife spent part of our honeymoon on Vancouver Island and really loved every moment of it. Why with those thick coastal woods and all, it’s hard to believe that there’s even a military base hidden away out there.”
Graham nodded.
“It’s beautiful country, all right. Having spent most of my life as an Alberta flat lander those coastal mountains were like a breath of fresh air. Have you ever been to Waikiki beach, Sergeant?”
Stanfield took a long drink before answering.
“That’s Jim to you, and yes, I have been to the island of Oahu. In fact, I was stationed at Hickam Air Force base when I got the papers sending me to the Arctic.”
With his gaze locked on the mural, Graham sighed.
“You must have been really disappointed with your new assignment. Hawaii sounds to me like it’s the closest thing to paradise we have on this earth.”
“Believe it or not, I actually requested this transfer,” revealed the grinning American. “You see, I was brought up on a farm in upstate New York, and all that Hawaiian sunshine was finally starting to get to me. There’s certainly nothing wrong with the cold, as long as you’re dressed for it. If you ask me, it makes a man feel totally alive.”
“I beg to differ with you, Jim. All my life I’ve had nothing but fickle Canadian weather. When it finally does warm up in the summer, the mosquitoes and flies are so bad that you really can’t enjoy yourself. And the winters, why they’re the worst. I’m sick and tired of having cabin fever for six months of the year. You can give me a warm beach and a shapely Polynesian lady any day of the week, and I guarantee you won’t be hearing any complaints from me.”
Jim Stanfield chuckled.
“I still say that it would get to you eventually. In a couple of months you’d be begging for a cool spell, so that you could finally stop sweating. Although, I must admit, this Arctic weather is a bit extreme. How long are you up here for?”
“Six months,” replied the Canadian. “And you?”
“The same,” answered Stanfield as he warmed his large hands on the sides of his mug.
“Isn’t that an awfully long time to be away from your wife?” asked Graham.
The American polished off the rest of his drink before answering.
“Not really. You see, we split up this past spring. The last I heard from her, she was living in Waikiki with a Hawaiian surfing instructor. I should have known that she would go native on me. That one was never satisfied from the very start.”
Conscious now of why the American had most likely requested a transfer to such an isolated outpost, Graham turned his attention back to his drink. The rum was strong, and he could already feel its soothing effects. No longer feeling all alone in his misery, the Canadian began tapping his foot to the spirited reggae music that continued to blare forth from the room’s excellent stereo speakers. Ironically enough, he identified the song that was currently playing as Bob Marley’s, “No Woman, No Cry.” While wondering if his suddenly morose drinking companion had ever really listened to the clever lyrics to this piece, Graham became aware of another’s presence behind him. He turned and set his eyes on a tall, khaki-uniformed black man who hurriedly entered the room and spoke excitedly.
“Ah, I should have known I’d find you in here, Stanfield. You asked me to let you know the moment we had the Flying Kremlin on the scope. Well, we’ve got ‘em all right, clear as day, just leaving Siberian air space.”
This surprise revelation served to immediately divert the broad-shouldered New Yorker from his thoughtful reverie. Catching his drinking companion’s eye, Stanfield winked.
“Well, Canuck, shall we go and see what a real live Ilyushin-76 looks like on an OTHB?”
Already standing, Graham polished off the rest of his drink and turned for the exit. Master Sergeant Jim Stanfield followed him, all the while busily ripping off the apron that he had previously neglected to remove.
They arrived in the central control room along with several other curious observers, likewise drawn from other portions of the compound. To facilitate their viewing, the commander had activated the main display screen. Fully occupying one entire wall of the cavernous room, the screen was filled with a large polar projection map. A constant circular blue light, that was set on the northern extremity of Baffin Island corresponded to their current position, while the only other visual illumination was a flashing red star, located off the coast of central Siberia. It proved to be the senior duty officer, Captain Carl Schluter, who provided them with the latest update.