All's Bear in Love and War
Part 2
TaleSpin and its characters are the property of Disney/Buena Vista Co. and are used without permission. All other characters are mine and cannot be used without permission.
Outside A Thembrian Warehouse
Dunder's rifle trembled almost as much as his voice as he commanded, "Turn around slowly, you trespassing trespasser." When he saw who his prisoner was, he immediately shouldered his weapon. "Mr. Baloo?"
"Dunder, ol' pal!" Baloo exclaimed in relief, lowering his arms. "Man, am I glad to see you. For minute there, I thought I was in hot water."
"Only the High Marshall has hot water. His hot water heater is behind the Iron Curtain." Sergeant Dunder pointed through the open warehouse door to the curtain of iron rings.
"How'd ya know that?"
Dunder shrugged. "I filed the paperwork for it."
"Listen, Dundee, I think it's missin' this doohickey." Baloo showed him the little temperature control knob. "If we don't put it back pronto, I'm bettin' more people than me will be in hot water."
Meanwhile...
The High Marshall's Bathroom
The High Marshall, who was soaking in his steaming hot bath, sighed the sigh of the extremely exasperated. "I need a lock on that door. What are you doing here, Nozzle?"
"Spigot, O Mighty Mucky-Muck," the diminutive colonel corrected with a deferential bow. "Spigot."
"Yah, yah, yah." Thembria's behemoth leader emphasized each 'yah' with a quack from his rubber duck. "I thought I told you never to interrupt me when I'm taking a bath." He leaned forward so his assistant could scrub his back with a brush.
Col. Spigot spun around to discreetly face the door. "But, sir, this is important! Tomorrow, we will be at war with Usland. We need to discuss battle strategies."
"The only thing I'm interested in is having you shot." From under heavily lidded eyes, the High Marshall cast a baleful look at the back of Spigot's head.
"Ple-e-ease, sir! Not before we discuss strategies."
"All right," the High Marshall grunted. "Keep it short."
"Quack," said the rubber duck, derisively.
"The way I see it, we should attack the Uslandian military from all directions. Completely surround them, especially in the air, of which I, as Head of the Glorious People's Air Force, will be personally in charge. As a matter of fact, we can use my secret weapon: Hanging a Spigot. Those Uslandian swine will be left in the cold!"
Suddenly, the hot water coming out of the tap turned cold and in a matter of seconds the High Marshall became a warthog ice cube in his own bathtub.
"Spigot!" the High Marshall shouted, trying to wrench himself out of the bathtub with hands that were bluer than normal. "My water is cold! Do you know what this means?"
Peeking over his shoulder, Spigot said shakily, "It-it turned to ice, s-sir?" He would have been furious at Sgt. Dunder for deserting his post if he wasn't so afraid for his own life.
"No, it means I will have to go to all the trouble of having you shot."
As if this was an ordinary, everyday occurrence, the High Marshall's assistant leisurely traded the back brush for an ice pick and began chipping at the ice.
Over the steady blows of the ice pick, Spigot pleaded, "But your High Marshall-ness, who will run the Air Force if you have me shot?"
"Hmm...Boris, my nephew."
"But he doesn't know how to fly!" Spigot pointed out desperately.
The High Marshall roughly grabbed the ice pick from his assistant and tossed it aside. He was getting annoyed with the ice chips pelting his face. "Anyone can fly better than you, Schnozzle."
Unexpectedly, the pipes popped and cracked to life. Hot water spewed out of the tap, the bathtub thawed, and so did the High Marshall's temper.
"All right, Nozzle. I won't shoot you today."
"Thank you! Oh, thank you, your High Marshall-ness." Spigot picked up a towel from a nearby chair and wiped the cold sweat off his brow. He hadn't been so close to being executed since he had lost the Golden Sprocket of Friendship.
"But I might have you flogged for using my towel."
Spigot put the towel down reverently and fled from the room as if his life depended on it – which it did.
Back at the Thembrian Warehouse
Baloo blew out the match he had used to relight the water heater's pilot light. "That oughta do it, Dundee. But there's one thing I don't get. Why have a hot water heater big enough to supply the whole city when only the High Marshall uses it?"
"Only enough pipes to route it to the High Marshall's bathroom," Dunder replied matter-of-factly. "I wish there was something I could do to thank you from keeping Col. Spigot and me from getting shot."
"How's 'bout keepin' me from getting shot?"
A Couple of Hours Later…
Outside the Water Heater Warehouse
Baloo, bathed in a cone of light emanating from the fixture above the warehouse door, flipped through the official papers that declared him to be a Glorious Thembrian citizen. It wasn't exactly what he had in mind when he had asked Dunder to save him from being shot, but when the sergeant had pointed out that it was the only way, he had reluctantly agreed.
"You know, Mr. Baloo, you're the first immigrant we've ever had in Thembria."
"And I'm probably the last," Baloo muttered as he carefully stowed the papers in his pocket.
"I've enrolled you in the Glorious People's Air Force. We can always use a great pilot like you, especially with the war starting tomorrow."
"Oh, yeah, the war," the big bear echoed hollowly.
"But for now, you can help me with guard duty." Sgt. Dunder handed him a rifle.
"Swell." Baloo looked at the gun with distaste. He tugged at the collar of the itchy woolen uniform that Dunder had lent him, slumped against the warehouse, and peered through the gathering gloom at the city. The prospect wasn't pretty - poverty and persecution in perpetuity. It was evident from the rows of dilapidated houses to the defeated-looking people queued in front of the State-owned store to the many military men milling around. Even the large snowflakes that were softly falling failed to cover the bleakness.
As Baloo stood there, it slowly sank in. He had escaped the shackles of family, but, surprisingly, he didn't have fun or freedom in return. He didn't even have his Sea Duck to fly. He shivered, not necessarily from the cold. Now, he almost wished that he had just let them shoot him.
The big bear jumped when a city-wide alarm went off.
"What was that?"
"First shift dinner break for military personnel." Dunder pulled a paper sack from his pocket. "I'll share my roast turnips with you."
"Say, that's real swell of ya, Dundee." Baloo's grateful smile faded when he accepted the turnip. "They're cold. Ice cold." He thumped it against the metal warehouse wall. It clanged loudly.
"Not if you hold them under your armpit for a while."
"You can have mine. I ain't hungry anyway," Baloo said dolefully.
Dunder carefully looked around. Seeing that no one but Baloo was within earshot, he took a small radio out of his pocket and began turning the knobs. "If the atmosphere is just right, we should be able to get K-CAPE. But don't tell anyone, especially Col. Spigot. He'll have me shot...or worse."
A gruff, bored voice pushed its way through the radio's static: "...Sunday - cold, cloudy, chance of snow. Monday - cold, cloudy, chance of snow. Tuesday..."
"... the latest mass trials were a huge success," a second announcer said briskly. "There will be fewer but better Thembrians..."
"...on This Was Your Life," said the game show host cheerfully, "a jaywalker will be tried to the fullest extent of the law and then shot..."
A voice, akin to the weatherman droned: "...in 17 hours 12 minutes and 37 seconds. The High Marshall will declare war on Usland in 17 hours 12 minutes and 35 seconds. The High Marshall will declare war on Usland in…"
"Man, talk about boar-ger-wa-zee with a capital bore!"
"No music." A disappointed Dunder slipped the radio back in his pocket.
Baloo blankly stared at the snowflakes falling at his feet. "I bet back home Broadcast Sally is servin' up all the Christmas platters."
Dunder paused in mid-bite to ask, "Do you actually know Broadcast Sally?"
"Yeah."
"Is she as beautiful as she sounds?" Dunder said between crunches of slightly icy turnip.
Despite his despondent mood, Baloo smiled wanly as he remembered the big-boned hippo who had a big crush on him. "Well, let's just say she can serve up the platters, but she's no dish."
"You must miss listening to her," the sergeant said sympathetically.
"Yeah," Baloo sighed and removed the snapshot of the Higher for Hire gang from his pocket. "But this is what I really miss."
"That's a nice picture."
"That's more'n nice. That's home." Baloo studied the photograph for a long time, a sad smile on his face. "Hey, can I ask your opinion?"
Upon hearing that word 'opinion', Sergeant Dunder was so afraid that his turnip toppled out of his hands and sank in the snow. He murmured just loud enough for Baloo to hear: "Opinions aren't allowed in Thembria, sir. They lead to ideas and the State doesn't like that."
"This ain't even about Thembria. It's just one little ol' opinion about this little ol' picture."
Dunder seriously considered the question for a moment, furtively looked around to make sure no one was listening, then nodded slightly.
As if fearful of the answer he might receive, Baloo couldn't look at Dunder while he stammered: "Do we...? I mean, do the people in the picture look...?"
"Warm? Yes, sir. You must miss being warm as much as you miss your comrades."
"Comrades?" Baloo exclaimed. He wasn't expecting that word.
"Your social equals," Dunder explained. "Everyone's a comrade in Thembria except the High Marshall. Or any of the top, top officials. And I wouldn't dare call Col. Spigot a comrade. He'd have me shot."
"Well, these are real special...comrades. My comrade Louie calls 'em...um, fam...family." Baloo quickly brushed away a tear that had fallen on the photograph and glanced over at Dunder.
However, the sergeant hadn't noticed the tear, because he was intently folding his empty paper sack. "We have families in Thembria, too."
"Where's yours?"
Dunder looked even more solemn than usual as he stowed the neatly folded sack in his pocket. "Oh, they were shot a long time ago."
"Sorry, pal." Baloo clapped a compassionate hand to Dunder's shoulder.
"You're lucky to have a family, sir."
Regretfully, Baloo muttered to himself, "Eh, I used to be."
"Dinner break is almost over. We'd better get ready for guard duty."
"Oh, yeah." Following Sergeant Dunder's lead, he put the photograph back in his pocket and shouldered his rifle in preparation of pacing around the warehouse.
As they stood there, waiting for the bell denoting the end of dinner break, Baloo said, "Kit, Wildcat and me were supposed to go fly-fishin' Sunday, and I promised Molly we'd finish reading her fairytale book. And what's Becky gonna do about the lemons that are comin' Monday? If I'm not there to deliver 'em, the whole deal will go sour, just like this ambassador gig." He laughed bitterly. "Some ambassador! I'm down and out, while at this very minute Col. Fakeroo is livin' it up with Becky, eatin' horse doovers and swillin' champagne..."
Meanwhile...
Carousel Club
Cape Suzette
Col. Conrad recoiled as a mouthful of champagne hit him squarely in the face.
"Defected? No one defects to Thembria!" Rebecca's voice rang shrilly throughout the very posh, very pastel nightclub.
Everyone, from the people seated at the tables to the couples on the dance floor, turned to look at her in disgust and impatience. The band that slowly spun around on the giant carousel in the middle of the club began "Begin the Beguine" again.
"I know it's hard to believe, but I saw Baloo do it myself." Conrad drawled, dabbing at his face with a napkin. He took the empty champagne glass from her, wrapped an arm around her shoulders, and flashed his world-famous smile as the paparazzi snapped picture after picture.
"But...but...defected?" she said dazedly.
The glamor and excitement of being on a date with Usland's most famous hero was quickly fading. She wished that she was in a quiet corner café eating hamburgers with Baloo, far away from the media circus and the fans that had constantly buzzed around them like a swarm of bees. Spots danced before her eyes from all the flashbulbs and her head reeled from the noise of the jabbering, fawning fans.
She murmured to herself, "I just wanted to make him a little jealous, not defect to Thembria."
Conrad signed a simpering vixen's napkin, handed it back to her with a wink that caused her to swoon, then turned to Rebecca. "Let's not dwell on the past. I reckon it's better to think about the future. Our future." With a flourish, he took a black velvet box out of his uniform pocket and opened it, revealing a very, very large diamond ring. "Will you marry me?"
The photographers and fans leaned in closer to hear her answer.
"I-I...uh..." Rebecca stammered. She didn't know what stunned her most - Baloo's defecting, the fact that Usland's most famous hero was asking her to be Mrs. Col. Conrad, or the blinding gem that was staring her in the face. She put up a hand to shield her eyes from the glare.
Col. Conrad gave the people pressing around the table his most charming smile. "Can Ms. Rebecca and I have a little ol' moment alone, please?"
After the crowd had scattered, Conrad scootched closer to Rebecca on the semi-circle bench they shared. As he advanced, she retreated. "I reckon I'm just the most eligible bachelor in the entire country. I have three estates, fifteen vee-hicles, a collection of airplanes, my own personal runway, a 30-foot yacht, my own pier, not to mention oodles of money. This ring alone cost fifty grand."
"Fifty...thousand...dollars?" Rebecca gasped. She was so shocked by the exorbitant price that she paused for a moment in her escape towards the end of the plush peach-colored bench.
Conrad mistook her shock for awe at his greatness. Unlike every other woman he'd ever know, Rebecca wasn't completely mesmerized by him. In fact, she had been playing hard-to-get all night, but it looked like she was finally ready to be caught. He knew that the ring would do it. That, and his magnetic personality.
Smiling triumphantly, he cozied up to her and slipped a possessive arm around her shoulders. "Ya'll have everything you ever wanted. Most importantly, you, Kurt, and Holly..."
"Kit and Molly," Rebecca corrected, annoyed.
He continued as if he hadn't heard her. "…will add to my perfect image." He grinned at their reflections in the mirror on the wall opposite their booth. He was really attracted to this sweet, yet sassy, brown-eyed bearess. Most importantly, her appearance complimented his perfectly; her with her sleek auburn hair and him with his golden curls. As an added bonus, she was the mother of two adorable cubs who adored him. "Yessirie, we'll look delightful in the papers and the movies. Don't you think I'll look good as the head of a family? All the presidents have 'em and the way things are going, I'm gonna be president someday."
"But we barely know each other," Rebecca protested as she struggled to pry his fingers from her arm.
"I reckon that's because I'm just a little ol' shy boy from the south, sugar."
"You'll be shy one arm if you don't stop doing that!" She finally succeeded in shrugging him off and promptly tumbled off the edge of the bench with an "Ah!" When she landed on the lavender carpet with a jarring thump, her hairpins jolted loose, letting her S-shaped up-do fall down.
"You'll get to know me," he said as he slipped the ring on her finger. "Look me up in Who's Who, The Ambassador's Quarterly, read about me in any Uslandian newspaper, or listen about me on the news. Whattaya'll say?"
"I say I've really got to go." Rebecca scrambled to her feet and scooped up her handbag.
"Why, of course you do! The sooner you look up my credentials, the sooner ya'll love me. I reckon everybody does!" Conrad yelled after her as she rushed towards the exit amid a blaze of flashbulbs.
Higher for Hire
Ten Minutes Later
Rebecca sprang from a checkered cab, threw a fistful of bills at the driver, and ran into her office.
Kit, Molly, and Wildcat were sitting cross-legged on the rug in front of Rebecca's desk. They looked up from the card game they were playing when she entered.
Rebecca was a pink blur as she sprinted across the room, grabbed the Sea Duck's spare set of keys from her desk drawer and headed for the door, saying quickly, "I'm flying to Thembria to get Baloo because I know he wouldn't defect in...in a prop-spinnin' minute. Kit, you take care of Molly. Molly, you be good for Kit, and, Wildcat, you do...whatever it is you do. Okay? Bye!"
As quickly as she had come in, Rebecca left, slamming the door behind her. A moment later the Sea Duck started up and roared away.
"Wait." Confusion crossed Kit's face as he chose a card from the pile on the floor in front of him. "Did she just say Baloo defected to Thembria, or did I misunderstand her?"
"That's okay, Kit. I misunderstand people all the time," Wildcat replied with a bright smile. He looked at his cards and scratched his head. "Are we playing Old Maid or Crazy Eights?"
"Go Fish," Molly answered, trying to decide what card she should ask for next.
"Okay." Without further ado, Wildcat put down his cards, got to his feet, and started for the door.
"Where are you going?" Kit asked.
"To get my fishing pole."
Kit and Molly shared a look and shrugged.
Meanwhile...
Khan Towers
Shere Khan, the world's richest and most powerful man, stood in front of his very large window, gazing down at the misty reflection of the city lights far, far below in the harbor.
The radio on his desk was on and Dog Rather was reporting: "According to the President, Col. Conrad was unable to resolve matters with the High Marshall earlier today due to the Thembrian leader's refusal to negotiate..."
"A pity," Khan purred. His pleased face was reflected in the glass.
His reverie was cut short by the nasal voice of his faithful secretary paging him over the intercom.
"Col. Conrad is here to see you, Mr. Khan."
With the purposeful, unhurried strides of a man who knew exactly where he was going in life, Khan crossed the room and seated himself behind his desk. He switched off the radio and pressed the 'transmit' button on the intercom. "Show him in, Mrs. Snarly."
A moment later, Conrad exited the elevator. Most people crept timidly into the imposing office occupied by the equally imposing Shere Khan. Not Col. Conrad. He strutted past the snapping man-eating Venus flytraps with all the arrogance and self-assurance in the world. When he reached the desk, he slapped one hand on its polished surface and offered the other to the businessman. "As always, a delight to be here, Mr. Khan. Mighty 'bliged that you'd see me so late in the P.M."
Khan ignored the proffered hand and got straight down to business. "I trust that you were successful."
"Yes, sir." Col. Conrad took a seat in the chair opposite the desk and straightened a few of the medals on his uniform. "The goods are en route to Thembria."
"Excellent." He handed the colonel a fat envelope.
Conrad peeked at the cash in the envelope and smiled with satisfaction as he tucked it into his pocket. "When the war begins tomorrow, I'll get to bomb those idiotic Thembrians. How they ever got to be a world power is beyond me. Yessiree, I'll probably be promoted to general and, I reckon," he chuckled, "your pocketbook won't be hurtin' with all those military contracts."
Quietly but resolutely, Khan said, "There's not going to be a war."
"No war? No general?" Crestfallen, Conrad fingered his lapel where he had longed to see a general's star.
"Anyone can be a general. Not everyone can be president." Khan fixed Col. Conrad with a cool stare. "You do want to be president, don't you?"
"Shore do!" the colonel said eagerly.
"Then do as I say and you will get there someday."
"All right-y," Conrad said dubiously. "Anything you say."
"Return to Thembria."
Conrad sprang to his feet in amazement. "Return? Why?"
Khan explained calmly, "Because you must inform the High Marshall of the location of their stolen goods. Once they are in possession of those, the war will be cancelled at the very last minute, and you will be a bigger hero than ever. In gratitude, the Uslandian people will choose you as their president in the next elections."
"You can't expect me to go back there!" The fearless hero was on the verge of a panic attack. "Those Thembrians are so all-fired mad at us that any and all Uslandians they see will be shot on sight!"
In response, Shere Khan stood, towering over the colonel. He had no patience for people who questioned his absolute wisdom and authority. He snarled, "Let me remind you, Col. Conrad, you're an image. An image I made through years of careful planning and connections. I made sure that you were there to be the hero in all the right places and at all the right times. I made you and, just as easily, I can un-make you." One of his razor-sharp claws shot out and sliced a row of medals from the colonel's uniform; they clattered on the desk. "Do you understand?"
In a flash, Conrad snatched up his medals and was gone from the office.
Several Hours Later…
The Glorious People's Glorious Government Building
Radar Room
Col. Spigot was seated in front of the radar screen, but he wasn't paying attention to it. He was much too busy polishing his helmet, topped with a garish brass flounder. He sang happily as he rubbed one of the flounder's bug eyes with a cloth. "War, war, war, in a few hours we're going to war."
Hearing an extra 'blip' on the radar, he glanced up. An unidentified dot was rapidly moving towards Mustgo. He reached for the microphone and demanded, "Who flies there?"
Meanwhile…
The Sea Duck
"Oh, dear." Rebecca fumbled for the mike in the dark cockpit and tried to reply, but found that her tongue was frozen with fear. She had left Cape Suzette in such a hurry that she had forgotten to apply for an entry passport. But normally that took weeks, and knowing the Thembrian penchant for shooting first and asking questions later, she was afraid that Baloo didn't have weeks. Her mind desperately raced to think up a plausible reason for why an Uslandian plane was flying over Thembrian airspace, but she couldn't come up with anything.
Over the radio, Spigot's accusing voice barked: "Speak up! Don't keep me guessing. You're an Uslandian spy trying to get a jump start on the war, aren't you? Aren't you?"
"No! My name is Rebecca Cunningham, owner of Higher for Hire air cargo service," she blurted out nervously. "I just need to make a quick stop."
"I'll stop you all right."
Rebecca didn't like the sound of his self-satisfied chuckle.
A few minutes later, the Sea Duck was surrounded by five sturdy Thembrian fighter planes. Their popping machine guns lit up the night sky.
Clang went a bathtub as it landed on top of the yellow seaplane, jarring it and the bearess piloting it.
Rebecca's heart sank as she shrank in her seat. So much for her daring rescue. She knew that she couldn't out-fly the fighters, so she began her descent. "Where's Baloo when I need him?"
A Few Minutes Later…
The Hot Water Heater Warehouse
Baloo was pacing around the warehouse in the rut that he and Sergeant Dunder had worn in the snow. Above the grooved snowbank only the top of his head was visible. He couldn't see Dunder, who was half a building ahead of him, but he could hear his steady, "Left, right, left, right," urging him on.
The big bear mechanically marched, muttering under his breath, "Think of somethin' warm. The inside of a volcano, the desert sand singeing my tootsies, Louie's piping-hot pizza. Oh, baby, I sure could go for one of those right now. With pepperoni, extra cheese…"
Dreams of pizza were interrupted by Col. Spigot shouting, "You! Guard! Come with me."
"Aw, man, two more seconds, and I could have tasted it." Baloo, rifle in hand, scrambled over the snowbank and trotted after the colonel. "Where're we goin', Spiggy?"
"Spiggy?" The colonel stopped in his tracks, spun around, and glared up at Baloo, bristling like an undersized rooster.
"Twiggy," Baloo amended quickly. "I said 'twiggy'. Have you lost weight? Because you look really, uh…glorious today." For good measure, he tacked on "Sir."
Spigot chuckled as he struck a pose, showing off his 'fine figure'. "I do, don't I? It must be the helmet."
"Well, ya know what they say, sir. The helmet makes the man." To himself, Baloo added silently, "Look like an idjit."
"I should wear it more often. Perhaps it will impress the ladies." Spigot tipped the helmet at a rakish angle and wriggled his eyebrows. The oversized helmet promptly plopped flounder-first into the snow.
Baloo had to bite his lip to keep from laughing. "Oh, yeah, that'll do it all right."
With a grunt of frustration, Spigot picked up the helmet and plunked it back on his head. "Enough chitchat. Let's go."
He led Baloo through the deserted streets to a courtyard.
"We found an intruder encroaching on Thembrian airspace. As the head officer of the Glorious People's Air Force, it is my duty to deal with said intruder in order to discourage this from happening again. Otherwise, our Glorious Mommyland will be overrun with pushy, presumptuous, capitalistic swine."
Spigot pointed to someone in a pink dress standing against a concrete wall marred with several cannonball craters. The prisoner's hands were tied to a post. Her head hung down, her thick brown hair concealing her face. Casually, he commanded, "Shoot her."
"What?" Baloo and Rebecca cried simultaneously, the bearess's head snapping up.
Both bears gasped when they recognized each other.
End of part 2