Tiny Tundra in the Great War, right?”

 

Spigot looked very pleased and a little surprised.  There weren’t too many people who knew his name, let alone his claims to fame. “Why, yes! That’s where I earned the nickname ‘The Terror’, because everyone was terrified of me.  Have you heard the whole story?  I’ll start at the beginning.  It was a dark and snowy night, and the enemy had us surrounded!”

 

“Oh, brother,” Baloo muttered, rolling his eyes.

 

Col. Conrad took a more diplomatic approach. “I’m so sorry we don’t have the time to hear all of your simply fascinatin’ story, sir, but I do believe that the High Marshall is expecting me.” He pointed at his solid gold wristwatch.

 

At the mere mention of Thembria’s glorious leader, Col. Spigot snapped to attention. “Of course.  Can’t keep the High Marshall waiting.”  Almost graciously, he said, “I would offer you a ride, Mr. Ambassador, but...”

 

Baloo supplied flippantly, “All the vehicles have been stolen.”

 

“Yes.  How did you know?” Spigot asked, eyeing him suspiciously.

 

“Lucky guess?” Baloo replied with a nervous chuckle.

 

“Hmm...”  After giving the overweight bear a look that clearly said, ‘I’m watching you’, Spigot abruptly turned on his heel and led Conrad and Baloo on a one-block trek to the long government building that ominously overshadowed the entire city.

 

Their footsteps echoed as they climbed innumerable stone steps up to the top floor where the High Marshall’s offices were. 

 

“In here, Mr. Ambassador,” Col. Spigot said, ushering him into a room.

 

Before Baloo could follow, the door was slammed in his face.  “I’ll wait out here,” he muttered nasally, rubbing his stinging nose.

 

As he waited, Baloo nervously shifted from one foot to the other.  He looked up the silent corridor, then down the silent corridor.  There didn’t seem to be anyone around except the formidable-looking man standing guard in front of the High Marshall’s office.  He stood so still that Baloo had an urge to pinch him to see if he was real. But he refrained because pinching a Thembrian guard would probably result in a trip to the firing squad.  Instead, he tentatively struck up a conversation. “So, uh, how’s the weather been?”

 

“Cold,” the muscular warthog replied curtly without taking his eyes off the drab grey wall opposite him.

 

“So’s the reception,” Baloo muttered under his breath. “Say, is there a little pilot’s room around here?”

 

The guard pointed to the left with the barrel of his rifle. “Two doors down.”

 

“Thanks, and I mean it, bud.” All those Orange Fizzies he had drank to keep awake on his long cargo run earlier that day were catching up with him.

 

A few minutes later, Baloo was washing his hands in the ice-cold trickle coming out of the bathroom sink’s tap when a lanky man ambled in without knocking.

 

“Hey!” Baloo exclaimed, recognizing the man as the High Marshall’s personal assistant.  “That door should have a lock on it.”

 

“Other than the gulag, there are no locks in Thembria,” the assistant stated languidly. He carried a stack of grey towels monogrammed with H.M.  Atop the towels was a bar of soap and a rubber ducky. “Everything belongs to the Glorious People, but the Glorious People know that if they take anything not given to them by the State, they will be shot.” 

 

He drew back a grey curtain that partitioned off the majority of the room, revealing a large, claw-footed bathtub that could have easily accommodated five people or one stout High Marshall.

 

“Does that belong to the People?” Baloo asked, drying his hands on his shirt.

 

“This is the High Marshall’s.” The assistant set the towels on a nearby chair and turned on the tap.

 

Seeing steam rise from the bathtub, Baloo exclaimed, “Hey, that’s hot water!  I thought the Thembrian people only had the cold and frozen varieties.”

 

“The People, yes.  The High Marshall, no.  Immediately remove yourself from the State’s estate or be shot.”

 

Once again, Baloo found himself pushed into the hallway and the door slammed in his face.

 

“Friendly country,” he murmured sarcastically, rubbing his throbbing nose.

 

Inside a Thembrian Warehouse
An Hour Later...

 

“It was sure nice of the High Marshall to let you have all this stuff as a peace offering.”  Baloo’s voice emerged from behind a bulging burlap bag. “But there’s one thing I don’t get, Connie.  If he gave it to you, why do we hafta go from warehouse to warehouse, pickin’ it up?”

 

Conrad chuckled quietly, derisively, as he stuffed handful after handful of chinchilla earmuffs into the sack. “That’s Thembrians for ya’ll.  Ornery as all get-out.”

 

“I hear that.”

 

The ambassador cracked open the creaky, cold metal door and peered outside.  Sergeant Dunder was pacing around the perimeter of the warehouse across the street.  As in everything he did, the sergeant looked very focused on his task.  His face was grim and his rifle was perfectly poised on his shoulder as he marched in a never-varying step.

 

“Think you can handle one more thing?”

 

“Piece o’ carrot cake,” Baloo said jauntily. “This is nuthin’ compared to what Becky makes me haul around when she goes shoppin’.  That gal must think I got the cargo capacity of the Spruce Moose. Oh, man!  That reminds me.  She’ll wanna go Christmas shoppin’ sometime.  I wish there really was a Santa so’s he could handle the present part of it.  Speaking of Santa, Molly’s already wrote him a letter tellin’ him what she wants. She’s sure excited about Christmas.  Kit too.  He wants to get the biggest Christmas tree he can find and decorate it all up.  I don’t think that kid’s had many real Christmases, maybe not any.  Neither have I, I guess. That’s why this Christmas is gonna be real special.  We’re...”

 

Conrad, intent on Sgt. Dunder, didn’t hear a word Baloo said. “Follow me,” he instructed as the sergeant disappeared around the corner.

 

“Right behind ya, Connie.” Baloo flung the bag over his shoulder and hurried after the colonel, the contents of the sack clinking.

 

On the other side of the snowy street, Conrad opened the door of the warehouse Dunder was guarding and slipped inside with Baloo right behind.   The colonel carefully closed the door.

 

“What’s that?” Baloo asked, nodding towards the curtain of thick metal rings that stretched across the length of the warehouse.

 

“The Iron Curtain.  Only the top, top Thembrian officials know what’s behind it, and the High Marshall said I could have a little look-see.”  The ambassador pushed the metal rings aside and quickly disappeared behind them.

 

“That High Marshall must be a real generous guy.”  Baloo set the heavy sack down.  “Hey, Connie.  What’s the world’s greatest ambassador want for Christmas?”

 

“Just a little ol’ piece of history,” Col. Conrad replied, emerging from behind the Iron Curtain. “How ‘bout you?  What do you want for Christmas?”

 

“I don’t rightly know,” Baloo said, rubbing the back of his neck thoughtfully.

 

“How ‘bout having the fate of the entire world in your hands?”  Smiling, he dropped a screw into Baloo’s palm. On one end of the screw was a red knob labeled: ‘Temperature Control’.

 

Baloo chuckled. “What are we gonna do with it, Connie?  Control the weather?”

 

Col. Conrad wasn’t smiling when he said, “I reckon that little screw will screw up Thembrian-Uslandian relations as we know it.  It will start the Cold Water War.”

 

“Cold Water War?” Baloo echoed, shocked.  “B-b-b-b-but you’re the peace ambassador.  You said you fixed everythin’ with the High Marshall.  And what about the High Marshall’s peace offerin’?” He gestured to the burlap sack at his feet.

 

“All the better to hit you over the head with, you stupid stooge.” 

 

Before Baloo could react, the heavy sack smacked him full in the face, knocking him out.

 

A few moments later, Baloo, stretched out on the cold floor, murmured, “You’re right, Louie.  That four-alarm chili sure packs a wallop.” 

 

The big bear opened his eyes.  It took a second for them to focus on the little red knob lying right in front of his nose.   Scooping it up, he ran outside just in time to see the ambassador’s plane roar overhead.  As he watched the plane

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