Meeting Santa - 1. Story

The icy wind howled outside the polypropylene and nylon tent with vapor barriers and cross ventilation that had been his shelter every night for the past fourteen days. The constant sound was reminiscent of a tea kettle coming to boil, but this one never ran out of water and went on for days. Only about 2 more nights until he’d finally reach his destination. The tent provided limited protection from the wind and it was anything but warm.

When leaving his small country a month ago he made multiple shopping trips, spending a lot of his savings at outdoor supply stores in Montreal before heading up to Iqaluit in the territory of Nunavut. After studying logistics, learned from his last job, the longer trip to the north of Canada would be safer than from Norway or Russia. Ice flows and shifting ice was less of a problem taking this route.

From head to toe, his balaclava was made of Gore-Tex that allowed his face to breathe, with flaps that covered the eyes, nose and mouth. Ensuring to keep those closed at night had been successful so far. It kept his face insulated as much as possible and he hadn’t shown any symptoms of frostbite.

His specially made jacket, with a fur lined hood, was guaranteed to minus 60 F. He luckily hadn’t reached temperatures like that yet. Layered like the rest of what he had on, it was designed to keep the wind and cold out and insulated him with a layer of air between the outer and inner layers that kept the body at a warm–comfortable–temperature.

The rifle mitts he found were primarily leather to block the cold and any moisture out, insulated again with cotton knit, and finally a layer of Gore-Tex to keep his hands dry. The wrists were protected by a cuff of polyester with faux fur. He liked the idea of keeping his fingers together and still be able to pop in the pointer finger to make grasping stuff easier when necessary. Mitts were much superior over gloves for heat retention.

His snow pants, which so far had kept him warm every day, were a mixture of Gore-Tex and nylon.

The boots he wore were heavy treaded to keep his soles off the snow and ice, which lifted the wearer a few inches taller than what was on his driver’s license. They too were fur lined.

All of the underwear and other clothes were layered with sweet absorbing material that kept the entire body warm and the moisture away, as that was what would kill him this far north. The idea of freezing to death after getting so close to his objective was a constant worry.

Zipping shut his Ray Mear sleeping bag in just his thermal underwear, struggling with the zipper and wondering why, no matter how much you spent on a sleeping bag, the zipper always got stuck. Making sure all of his other clothes were stored in the foot of the bag except the outerwear, he shut off the single bulb lantern that illuminated the tent and called it a night.

Limiting his eating to twice a day to high carb, high protein, energy bars to replace all of his diet took time to adjust to. Even though he had several cases of them, they were light enough to put in the pack and not weigh him down as conventional rations would. He also carried a small butane stove to melt the ample snow to put in an insulated water bag slung over the shoulder under his jacket. Knowing that the snowshoes and backup ones were securely in the snow to make a fort like appearance to the tent, he was able to drift off to sleep hoping once again not to encounter any polar bears on this trip during sleeping time.

Sleeping time was only indicated by the watch on his wrist. Up this far north, the sun never rose for another 3 months. Needless to say, his night vision was better than ever. Occasionally, there were enough stars to light up the way, but usually they were obscured by the frequent clouds and snow storms at the top of the world.

Waking by 6 AM, he stayed in his sleeping bag, switched on the light, and reached over to the light but sturdy back pack. Pulling out the portable stove, he fired it up and grabbed the aluminum pot that had been filled with snow before entering his tent last night. Slowly the snow turned to water and he chose that point to climb out of the sleeping bag and don his clothing stored in the base of the sleeping bag and finally the outwear. Five minutes of the heat from the stove was all that he could expect to make it a bit more comfortable getting dressed in the tent before heading out into the cold.

Stopping only to fill the water bag after adding some anti-bacterial pills to it, he dined on his first power bar of the day. One day, after forgetting to add the pill to the water, worry set in for days that he might get a case of beaver fever or other gastro-intestinal bug that would most likely be the death of him.

Two days later found him waking for what, if he timed everything right, would be the morning of hopefully the last day to finish the task and then somehow begin the long way home. Excitement had been building since the night before. Ironic that the feeling was like a little kid who was going to bed on Christmas Eve.

The North Pole was within a five hour trudge, across ice and snow so thick there was no need to worry about it breaking up and flowing away. Once again he was relieved that he decided to take this route instead of the more familiar Scandinavian and Russian routes. He quickly rolled up the tent, packed everything away in the pack, and strapped on the trusty pair of snowshoes.

Trudging through the dark, he hoped he didn’t make any miscalculations with the compass in finding true North, rather than the magnetic North Pole. The GPS the salesman and the manufacturer promised was good to minus 70 degrees had conked out two days in. Luckily he had the trusty compass and map to keep his line true to the final destination.

With this objective ahead of him, he had confidence in the plan and had down to the last second memorized. He let his mind drift to his days as a child growing up in rural area outside a town.

Luckily his single mom could find work to keep them both with a roof over their heads, food on the table, but not too much more. It seemed Santa was around everywhere but in their house. He learned at the age of six, when Christmas morning didn’t bring the bike he’d asked for in letters, visits to the mall, and actual praying, not to ask Santa for anything extravagant. He knew if he asked for something smaller and less extravagant then Santa always came through. Still, it was one time of the year that the feeling of self-worth was less than the other kids in the village, when they came back to school with their cool presents.

His mom told him at ten that Santa wasn’t real and don’t be expecting presents anymore. Luckily for him he never stopped believing as he knew he had seen Santa one Christmas eve outside their home with a bag full of presents. To this day, he believed Santa was real and finally he’d have the proof. Just under four hours would hopefully find the elusive North Pole work shop and prove to the world that he was right.

Education was not something that was an option to continue after Grade twelve. At eighteen, just a few months after graduating with honors from High School, he signed up for the small nations Army. His high aptitude scores, in conjunction with logical thinking skills, made him a prime candidate to move up the ranks and join the elite group of soldiers that were often sent on the utmost dangerous missions in secrecy. Although missions and training never did include a winter course, knowing how to plan out this trip from start to finish was much the same. Unfortunately, there was a forced retirement just the previous year at the age of 30 as a decorated sergeant with many years fighting in the coalition in Afghanistan.

The past year was still a major motivation point for making this trip. Spending six months of it in a closed mental facility for soldiers and then being honorably discharged had been devastating. He reflected back to how he ended up there after admitting to his belief—of Santa and everything to do with the North Pole–to his buddies. He was pulled from active duty after threatening a psychiatrist that was lying when trying to convince him that Santa was a fable. Only after six months of being drugged and locked up, did he begin constantly lying. Saying he no longer believed in Saint Nick finally saw him released.

With two hours to go, attention shifted back to his current operation. Not knowing what to really expect except for his long held beliefs. He knew that this was the evening that Santa took off to travel the world to drop off presents made in a work shop entirely staffed by Elves. Mrs. Clause would be around, making Santa and the Elves food constantly. The reindeer would be chowing down on alfalfa and buckets of grain to give them extra energy to pull the laden down sleigh and Santa around the world tonight. He never heard any word or stories of security but did wonder if it would be possible to walk into the town site known as the North Pole unannounced.

About a half hour out, he found the landscape gradually increasing with each step. Was it a mountain made of ice, or was it a fort like structure, he was not sure. The topographical maps only showed the actual land below the ice. The landscape formed of ice and snow shifted and could never be truly mapped out by a cartographer.

Suddenly he was faced with a wall of ice. Not knowing what to expect but being prepared, he pulled out the ice axes and crampons to fit over his large boots. He wasn’t expecting this physical of a workout at the end, but he was prepared and slowly began scaling the wall of ice. The only worry was how high this wall would be, in the pitch black there no way of telling. Turning on a light wasn’t an option either when wanting to arrive with an element of surprise.

First an over the shoulder swing striking the ice with his right ice axe, then lifting the left foot off the ground and kicking into the ice again to secure the toe crampon. Using his leg to lift himself up and a slight pull with the right arm he reversed the sequence and struck the left axe in and raised up the right foot. Calculating each sequence gained about 4 feet enabled him to keep track of how far off the ground he was. Time was of the essence. There would be no securing his assent with ice screws to lock into with a rope and prevent any major falls. Confidence in his climbing skills came from years of clambering over rocks in Afghanistan.

After about a half hour of climbing, striking the right arm over the head found him finally feeling nothing. Relief filled him at the accomplishment and the hope that the dream would become true. One last drilling of the axe downward and scrambling up the final four feet found himself on a ledge that was about 5 feet wide. He had to let his eyes adjust to the sudden light coming from down below. After about a month in total darkness, the light was temporarily blinding. It was about sixty feet down and after scanning around, he noticed the wall was indeed a fortress in an oblong shape.

A giant smile grew across his face, elation seeped throughout his body and suddenly he didn’t feel the utter cold that surrounded him on the ice ledge. Warmth encompassed him, almost as though he was submerged in a hot tub.

Down below at the north end of the oval, there was what appeared to be a factory, with noise and a what he could only believe were Elves, making a steady stream out of the factory and loading up what he could easily make out was the largest sled ever. It brought back memories of the sled that Santa rode down Fifth Avenue in far away New York City every year for the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade on TV. It was miniature compared to what was down on the ground now.

He reached in his backpack side pocket and pulled out a scope, invaluable for a reconnaissance mission, to get a closer look. He’d opted for a plain rifle scope rather than one with infrared technology which would require special batteries which wouldn’t hold up that long here. Making out the individual features of the elves, he could see they had quite hairy hands, feet, and faces, but could still make out their features. More like the size of Hobbits than the elves of the Lord of The Rings yore. Most surprisingly was that none of them were wearing winter wear, just green and red tunics pulled over black and white striped tights with curled up toes on their boots.

Just as the workshop and the whole idea of the North Pole was supposed to be mythical, he now had his proof that his eyes hadn’t failed him years ago. Taking his time he pulled out his camera and began unwrapping the multiple layers of protection preventing it from freezing. He snapped multiple pictures hoping to prove to others that he wasn’t crazy. A few hundred photos of the entire fortress and its inhabitants should be enough

He scanned ahead of the sleigh, counting off 8 reindeer; Dasher, Dancer, Prancer, Vixen, Comet, Cupid, Donner and Blixen. When he did his recognizance he had learned that Rudolph was added in the 20^th century and the absence of him at the head was proof that he was truly the only thing made up. Bright shiny brass bells lined their harnesses and reins back to the sled. They all had a bale of what looked like pure alfalfa to prepare them for the long flight ahead. Their breath was evident ahead of their dark brown heads, white necks and greyish body fur. More similar to an elk than anything else he could think of.

Beside the workshop to the left were tons of little houses, most likely the accommodation for the Elves, all decorated up like Gingerbread Houses. Imagining they would work tirelessly around the clock all year in preparation for this night. This would be their one night off and they would hold a big party and celebrate another successful year. On the right was a normal looking two story house that was painted in green and red and had picturesque snow drifts hanging off the steep eaves of the house. Interestingly there was not a sign of smoke coming out any of the buildings adding to this magical little town.

Suddenly the front door of the house opened and he saw him.

Snapping a few more pictures of him, before switching to the scope, he could see that jolly old man decked out in a red suit with white fur edging his pants and his coat. Topping his head–which was mainly covered with a thick white beard, eye brows and hair–was a red hat hanging down over his back, ending in a white pompom. Although he knew most Santa’s were fake, they sure did justice to the real rotund old man. With what appeared to be a quick kiss to his wife who wasn’t coming out, the door closed and he started to make his way to his trusty reindeer.

Santa checked and double checked the reins and harnesses of the reindeer on the far side of the sled. The jingling of the bells was evidence of him doing this. Although temporarily losing sight of Santa, he could make him out a minute later, as each Elf came out and threw a present in the sleigh, Santa fist bumped each Elf. How 2015.

As Santa moved to the back end of the sleigh to check the straps holding the giant sack, the man quickly opened the top of his pack and slid out a long case. At just over 14 pounds, this was the heaviest cargo in the pack.

Being a highly decorated soldier specializing in being a sniper, it took him seconds to assemble the Accuracy International Artic Warfare rifle. It was a bolt action sniper rifle that took a .308 Winchester Magnum cartridge. Last thing was to snap on the scope he’d been looking through to the top of the rifle. Knowing the site was true and accurate to within less than an inch. He was used to firing up to 800 meters away to take out enemy rebels and leaders, the 400 yards now would prove an easy enough task. Once again he was glad that he still had his military ID that allowed him to enter Canada with this weapon.

Santa walked around the sled from the back and began checking the bag on the near side with his back to the soldier lying flat on the ice ledge, most likely unseen and unnoticed up so high. Engaging the bolt to lock in the bullet that would take Santa’s life he slid his finger into the pointer finger on his right handed rifle mitt, then rested it on the trigger. Having the center mass fully in the crosshairs of his scope, he squeezed the trigger once.

No silencer was necessary up here so far away from civilization. The crack of the rifle was heard by Santa milliseconds before the bullet pierced his back, travelled through his heart and into the sleigh. Santa seemed to straighten up and then go rigid, finally he began to slump over against the sled. As he slid down the sleigh he fell onto his right side so the marksman could see his eyes still open, but dead to the world. Although his coat was red, the white lined fur on his chest was slowly turning a crimson red and the darker red stained the rest of his coat.

Within seconds of confirming the old man was dead, the rifle had been disassembled and put away and a rope pulled out. Only taking time to insert an ice screw and attach a carabiner with a figure eight knot, he clicked in his rope to the harness he was already wearing and began to repel back down the way he had just climbed up. Leaving the rope, ice picks and crampons, he made haste to strap on his snow shoes and begin the assent down the slope and start his two week trek back to civilization. At the moment, the emphasis was in distancing himself from the scene.

Not being able to help himself, he took one last look over his shoulder and mumbled to himself, “Take that you fat fucker, maybe you should have brought me my bike and not ruined my life by being a recluse. Well, now I can honestly say I don’t believe in you.”