Jennifer slowly puts her weak hand over my shaking mouth. She sits up and hugs me as I my mind was a million miles away.
When I pull away from her, I realize that she has passed out. I shake her saying,
“Jennifer!”
As she comes to, her first words are:
“They probably heard you, Mr. PTSD. Have you ever talked to someone about all this?”
“Ya, you.”
I look around, “We gotta move.”
Jennifer tries to sit up but almost passes out again.
“You’ve lost too much blood. I gotta get you help.”
Jennifer looks over to the boats saying, “Are they off the boats?”
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.
We Russians are used to an entire subtext of thought and communication that is far more important than the spoken or written word.
Subtext.
It’s all subtext.
“So do you believe the Americans are in any way a threat to Russia?” I read word for word.
The smooth talking president goes right into his dance,
“Not militarily, of course, Olga. We could wipe out NATO’s military in Eastern Europe in ten minutes. But we are increasing our patrols around any U.S. vessel or aircraft near our shores. We don’t want confrontation but we are fully prepared to defend our lands!”
But President Mironovich: Aren’t the Americans just reacting to our placing of ships and planes very close to NATO forces? This was the question I desperately want to ask but I didn’t want to end up like some of my colleagues:
Jailed or murdered!
So I didn’t ask the question.
The heavy hand of government had returned to Russia. But a few friends, more courageous than I, still question the absolute authoritarianism of crazy Ivan’s new Russia.
However, today, I wasn’t about to be one of them.
I quickly return to my script provided by my boss,
“Mr. President, are we doing all we can to counter these maneuvers by NATO and America?”
“Of course our brave boys will counter any aggressive moves by the West. I fear it’s only a matter of time before someone, either intentionally or accidentally, fires something at us in which case we will have no choice but to defend ourselves. And then there’s no telling where that could lead, Olga.”
I’ve become a puppet of the state. TV-12 is owned by the Russian government, which means President Mironovich was asking and answering his own preplanned script.