Brown Bear Blues Read online

  Brown Bear Blues

  A Memoir of the Endless War

  Book 4

  Stephen Wishnevsky

  Brown Bear Blues

  Copyright 8-12-17

  Stephen T Wishnevsky

  All Rights Reserved

  “You do realize that we can’t win this war, Frankie,” I said, after a quiet hour driving back to Vancouver. The roadsides were still full of soldiers, exiles headed south to someplace they hoped was home. The south-bound lane was solid military traffic, MPs at every crossroads. North-bound was busy enough, trucks going back for more loads of military supplies. “There is this joke about the Three Laws of Thermodynamics…”

  “Sounds like a real knee-slapper.”

  “Entropy? You ever hear of Entropy.”

  “Emma Trophy? Did she sing with Rudy Vallee? I’m just a dough that wanted to be a singer, then shit got fucked-up strange on me.”

  “I hear you. No, I am talking that science shit. Three Laws of Thermodynamics. I won’t bore you with the real laws, I probably don’t remember them correctly, but they boil down to ‘You can’t win, you can’t break even, and you can’t get out of the game.”

  “Cheerful thoughts.”

  “Reality. What I am saying is that you can’t put the genie back in the bottle. People act like we can restore the USA back to the way it was, but if you think about it, we can’t. No way. It’s gone. Smashed to shit by the Hoovers and Patton and all their asshole buddies. You can’t go home again. Some Greek guy said, ‘You can’t wade the same river twice.’ Get me?”

  “I get it. I’m not stupid. So, what then?”

  “Have to make something new. Pacifica for a start. It’s just a name now, but…”

  “I hate reality, did I ever mention?” She said. Maybe she was joking.

  “We noticed.” Kidding on the square, that’s called. She wants to be a woman, for example.

  “So, if you’re so smart, what happens next?”

  “Fucked if I know. I have been out of touch in the brig. How is the Mississippi Thrust going?”

  “I think Patton is holding Duluth, but barely. The New England Front is static, and Mexico is being taken back by the Colombians. Pretty much business as usual.”

  Then I asked the question I didn’t want to ask. “What about Barbara?”

  “Uh-h-h… Well, she went back to Dalny. With Janis. Is going… We heard you were dead. General Earhart saw you fall, thought you were shot. That’s what she reported, and when Barbara heard that, she just went all to pieces. Guilt and shit. Who knows? So, anyway, the Japanese are running every fucking ship they own into Vancouver, they even sent over railroad ferry boats full of armored trains. They must have been lurking up in the Interior Passage waiting for this offensive to happen. It’s fucking nuts. So, there is plenty of shipping going back to Dalny empty. A couple days after you were reported dead, that was three days ago, Barbara and Janis, the two of them, telegraphed Hodges, got permission to go back to the Free Port. They left yesterday, they might be a couple hundred miles out by now. Sucks.” She rubbed her unshaven chin, and I finally noticed she was wearing one of those dark blue Vanc non-uniforms. Her ginger hair was long, but simply tied back in a ponytail. No lipstick. Well. “So then, that Keenan guy phoned Vanc HQ, wanted to trade you for something or somebody, they got in touch with me, Arbuthnot did…”

  “The ubiquitous Arbuthnot. Figures.”

  “And I got in touch with Joe here, and here we are.”

  “And the paper?”

  “They put out one edition, I guess it’s on hold. The printer and Arbuthnot did, I guess. I don’t really know, the radio station is jumping, I got a shit-pot of work myself. Josh White is working his ass off, but he is just a kid, people try to give him shit, and I have to back him up. It’s working, that’s all I can say about that. So far, so good.”

  “But neither far enough or good enough. I get it. The old army game. Situation normal, all fucked up. SNAFU.”

  “So what are you going to do?”

  “Fucked if I know. I guess I’ll talk to Arbuthnot, see what he wants me to do. I would like to fire up the Express again, but who the fuck knows?”

  “Not me, that’s for shit sure.”

  >>>>>>>>>>

  We got up to some place called Peaceful Valley, just below the old border, and Joe Angelo’s armored cars peeled off, that was his home base, Frankie and I continued that last twenty or thirty miles in the old Grizzly Bear Express Press Car, a Buick we had inherited from a cabby that got killed in one of the attacks on the newspaper office. The office had been hit by a random bomb a little while later, everybody killed but me and my wife and her new girlfriend Janis. I was numb in all directions. I tried, but could not work up a good emotion on any subject. Fuck it. Next? One of Lieutenant Angelo’s handmade armored cars followed us with the two bogus countesses shackled in the back, and fuck them very kindly. I could count that as a good week’s work any way you wanted to cut it. We had phoned in from Peaceful Valley, Canada Bell was doing a great job keeping the lines open, and the mysterious James Arbuthnot was going to meet us at CKYZ to take them into custody. I hoped he was going to let me know what the Vanc government, also a mysterious entity, wanted me to do with the newspaper. My few days’ rest in the brig had made me back into a semi-human being again, and I felt up for tilting at another windmill or two. Not to mention jamming a stick into Isis’ and Cookie’s spokes was a morale booster, almost enough to assuage the pain of Barbara’s desertion. Almost. Win some, lose some. Who can cope?

  We made it back to CKYZ before dark, there was a squad of men in dark suits to take possession of the countesses. We parked and walked in. I was amazed, they had a banner over the door, “Welcome Home Miles.” They even had a band to welcome me in the lobby. Dips Armstrong blew me a special fanfare, and people slapped my back until it stung. Even fucking Peaches gave me a kiss, and she does not kiss men. Holy fuck. I wanted to kick Frankie’s ass for setting this up, but one look at her told me she was as shocked as I was. I was forced to admit that all these assholes actually liked me. How embarrassing. Ruin my reputation for sure.

  I saw Arbuthnot in the back corner, he just waved and walked off. I got the message. “Enjoy, I will see you later.” Drinks were poured, food was lavished at me and women I didn’t know hugged me until my ribs creaked. I could have grabbed one and taken her to bed, that was obvious, but I was not ready to get involved with another goddamn human being. They hurt you, ever notice?

  Eventually the hub and the bub relaxed, Peaches led me and Frankie to a small lounge off the lobby, Arbuthnot was waiting for me. His companion was a surprise. “Miles, please accept my deepest apologies.” General Amelia said, and extended her hand. “Not only did I leave you in the lurch, but I inadvertently seem to have destroyed your marriage. If there is any way of making amends, I am at your service.”

  “I don’t know what to say, General. Sh… Stuff happens. I was knocked half silly; I was dazed and couldn’t run. As for Barbara, who knows what people do under stress? On one level, I am just as glad that she will be safe in Dalny, and… And… Hell, who knows? Buy me a drink?”

  “At the very least. Scotch?”

  “I’m losing my taste for booze, but a rum and coke or something similar would hit the spot.”

  “Coca-Cola has suffered from the Southern War; they are not getting their ingredients delivered from South America as usual. And even if they did, the US does not love us anymore. Ginger Ale? Canada Dry is still in business. We have rum and vodka, of course.”

  “Sure. Anything. I’m glad to see you escaped, you are more valuable to the war effort than a scribbler like me. You did save my life, so I guess we are even or better. That was some impressive fl
ying skills. Did you see that flag?”

  “On that pole we hit?”

  “Yeah, it snapped so hard it looked like a sheet of steel there for a second.”

  “I was preoccupied. But I can imagine.”

  “Burned into my brain.” I sipped. Sugar and ginger and booze. Worthwhile. “I am the one that owes you his life. Getting my fat ass on the ground in one piece was a miracle. Of skill, I mean. Excuse me, I’m still not tracking real well. This has been a week of major changes; I’m trying to cope.”

  Arbuthnot finally spoke. “You have certainly earned a vacation, however, the press of events…”

  “You want me to fire up the Express again?”

  “It’s a job only you can do. We put out one edition in the new format with those photographs you managed to take before your crash. We did recover your camera from Amelia’s aircraft, there were some salvageable images there. But it’s a new game now. Operation Grizzly Bear can be counted a success. We may call the next phase Operation Brown Bear. The Brown Bear, Ursus arctos, has the widest distribution of any living ursid. The species is distributed across much of northern Eurasia and North America. It is one of the two largest terrestrial carnivorans alive today, rivaled in body size only by its close cousin, the polar bear. We thought that especially appropriate, as this phase of the war is nearly world-wide.”

  “James, your professor is showing. Fine. Brown B

  ear it is. You want a paper, I’m on it. I think we might as well keep the old name, one less thing to do. Good?”

  “Excellent. You are in charge of all the artistic decisions, of course. We have ample funding. There was insurance on your old building, if nothing else. Would you like to have your office set up here, or elsewhere?”

  “Frankie?”

  She looked blank for a second. “I like my job up here. It’s real. A real pain in the ass, but it’s my pain in the ass. I can do some real good in the world, at least when I am not charging around saving your ass from all the trouble you manage to get it into.” I could hear the unsaid words. If we were not going to be lovers, on whatever terms, then a little distance was a good thing. I could only agree. It looked like one or more of us was growing up. Fuck that shit.

  “Okay, James, assuming that you have cleared out all the Investigation Bureau stooges, then Vancouver is as good a spot as any. Better than most. It dawns on me that this is a naval war, as of right the hell now, so being in a port is essential. I guess I still have money in the bank, there was some gold on Kelly Street, it might still be there in the rubble. How about you find me a building, and I will find some people, and we will go for it? I hope Dougherty and Violet Summers are still alive, if so, that’s a good start. Let’s do it.”

  “Your Hilda was off running errands when the bomb hit, she is extant too. And your Tommy Corcoran is out of the hospital. He is convalescent, but able to perform light office duties. He is lusting for revenge. A very forceful personality, I must say.”

  “Good enough. Let me get a good night’s sleep, let my brain settle down a little, and I will be ready to hit it in the morning. Deal?”

  “As you say. Good evening, Miles, Frances.”

  >>>>>>>

  Hilda was indeed extant; she was up here too. We had a few words, another drink, and I was ready for bed. She looked like she wanted me to do something, but I ignored her, and toddled off to Slumberland. I didn’t see Little Nemo, just as well, he gets into too much trouble for me. A goofy kid, for sure.

  Hilda was waiting for me at the breakfast table, I asked her if she was ready to go to work, she said she was, and off we went in the Buick. We swung by Kelly Street first, there was a crew there sorting out the rubble, so I assumed James Arbuthnot had set them to work. We went to the bank, reestablished my identity, got some cash and counter checks, sent a telegram to the Bank of Shanghai for more, with another telegram to Dalny HQ, to let them know I was still kicking. I signed Hilda into the account, removed all the dead and missing. That stung a little. It turned out that her last name was Jensen. Who knew?

  We hunted up Dougherty and Summers, at least left messages at the Chronicle office, and went office hunting. “We need to shed this outlaw image, Miles. I think we should be downtown or at least nearby, better protection, and image will become more important, now that we are a de facto arm of the government, whatever government this turns out to me.”

  “Very good, Hilda, you didn’t even say ‘fuck’ once. Been practicing?”

  “Fuck you, Miles, you are such a smart ass, you know what?”

  “It’s my only redeeming virtue.” But she was right. I needed to clean up my act too. “Let’s go look over near Billy Chung’s print shop. He is in a decent neighborhood. Right on Kingsway.” As usual Billy was helpful and knowledgeable, he directed us to a vacant shop on the corner of Carolina and East 20th, a bit large for us, but fuck it. There was a second floor that could become apartments, with the application of a little cash money. I found a phone booth, called Arbuthnot’s office, whatever that was, and left a message. Buy it.

  That decision left me full of beans, all my angst and pain suddenly turned into energy, and I had to burn it off. I would have got drunk before, but this was better. For a given value of better.

  One step at a time. First step is always going shopping. Stationary stores, book stores for a research library, paper goods for bulk supplies, radio store, typewriters. That filled up the Buick pretty good, we drove back to Crazyland, CKYZ, unloaded, had dinner, and started scratching lists on legal pads. “It really helps having done this before,” She said.

  “Yeah. Two or three times. Three. We need to get cameras. You shoot? Darkroom?”

  “I had a Brownie.”

  “Close enough. We need to place ads in the other papers, start rolling.”

  “We can’t do that tonight. Want to go up and watch the show?”

  “I don’t know. What show?”

  “They are broadcasting out of the old Ballroom. From the Country Club?”

  “Yeah. Got it. Live audience?”

  “Sure. It’s always a good show. Unpredictable. They run twenty-four hours a day. Let’s go.”

  “Damn women, always leading me astray.” I said it as a joke, but she took it oddly. I didn’t know how or why, but I could tell. Oddly. Great. More complications. I hoped she was not thinking about fucking the boss; that trick never works, at least not with me. Not after Cookie and Isis it doesn’t. And my butt was more than slightly tender after the Barbara fiasco. Shut up, fat boy, go watch the show.

  Tonight must have been Hillbilly Night, that Carter woman, Maybelle, was the MC, and she was introducing a contest of Quebecois fiddlers, of all things. It made sense, the station was located in a Francophone town, Coquitlam, and the Quebec war was still raging. I knew that they French Canadiens had been pushed north into the forests, and weren’t going to be winkled out by anybody. Same story all over the northern part of the Northern Hemisphere. Canada, Alaska, Siberia, probably Finland and European Russia too. The Resistance was weak, but their very weakness was their strength; there was no profit, and a high probability of great losses if the Anglo-Germans went chasing off into the tundra or the taiga or what-the-fuck-ever they had up there, chasing a bunch of lumberjacks and fur trappers who didn’t want to be fucked with.

  The acts were all the same, a battered-looking fiddler on the microphone, and a little girl with her back to the audience, long blonde hair was all you could see, banging out the rhythm on an upright piano. An art-form that had previously escaped my attention. They played, the crowd went wild, the little girl curtseyed, and the judges held up their scores like it was the Olympics. Innocent and amusing, if not overwhelming. But I was in a mood to just relax and let the show go on. Little girls. I wondered if I had a little girl off in Barbara’s belly, and if she would survive. If she did live to grow up, and have babies of her own, would I ever know? Chances were slim, it seemed to me.

  I became so engrossed in that fantasy, that
it took Hilda’s nudging me with a fist-full of handkerchief to bring me back to reality. “Huh?” I asked, brilliantly.

  “Miles, wipe your eyes. You’re crying.” I was? I was. Crap. I dabbed my face, then stood, and made her let me out.

  “I got to go wash my face. I don’t know what came over me. I never do that.” I whispered. People turned to look, I fled. Can’t mess up the broadcast. Broadcasts are important. The johns were where they should be, right outside in the hall.

  When I got back out, she was waiting for me, leaning up against the wall, smoking a cigarette. “You didn’t have to wait for me. I’m a big boy.”

  “A big baby, more like it. Let’s go have a drink.”

  “I really have been trying to not drink so much.”

  “Then you can watch me drink. Come on.” I followed like a sheep, I didn’t know why, path of least resistance, I suppose. We went back to that same small lounge, I had a ginger ale, she had scotch on the rocks. “You really don’t get it, do you?”

  “Get what? I have no time for Twenty Questions. I’m worn out.”

  “I’m just wondering if you can handle a grown woman. I have been talking to Peaches. She says your two wives were pretty much innocent.”

  “Fucking Cookie and Isis were not innocent.”

  “You didn’t marry them. You let them use you for a dildo.”

  “I never heard a woman say that word before.”

  “You are just proving my point. You are not a bad guy, just naïve. Cookie, Aja, moved in on you, and you let her do it. A fucking junkie, Peaches said. Then you let Yelena, Isis, walk all over you. Maeve and Barbara were babies, who needed a daddy. You are a shitty daddy.”

  “If you are trying to make me feel better, it’s not working.”

  “You don’t know what I am doing here, do you, Miles?”

  “So, fucking clue me in, if you don’t mind.”

  “I have to work with you, hook up with you. It’s going to have to be as close as being married, if we want this deal to work. This is important work; I want to do it. I will do it with you, but I have to know you are not going blow this deal over some cheap piece of ass that walks in off the street someday. You hearing what I’m saying here?”