"Daddy, is Mommy coming home this Christmas?"

"I don't know, Ricky."

"Doesn't she love me any more?"

"I'm sure she still loves you. It's just . . . well, things are complicated."

"What if I write Santa that the one thing I really want for Christmas is Mommy to come home? Will he bring her home?"

"You can try, Ricky. You can try."

Captain Rick Hunter shook the thoughts out of his head. He exhaled loudly.

Focus.

He stared out at the blue water of the Arctic Ocean. His twin-tailed, swing-wing Veritech fighter couldn't be more than seventy feet off the deck.

Seventy-four feet, according to my display.

He took quick glances left and right. Two more Veritechs flanked him, flown by his friends Max and Miriya Sterling. He then glanced at a screen in his helmet-mounted display, the one linked to the satellite orbiting above the North Pole. His lips tightened as he observed the group of two-legged, egg-shaped vehicles streaking across the desolate, icy landscape. Fourteen Zentraedi battle pods. Even with their Veritechs blasting over the ocean at full military power, he and the Sterlings were still five minutes away from interception.

In three minutes, the enemy would reach their target.

Good. Let them blow it up.

Rick closed his eyes, grimacing. How could he have such a thought? If the Zentraedi succeeded in their mission, it would be a devastating psychological blow to the remnants of humanity. A year after The Great Battle, in which the Zentraedi fleet laid waste to ninety-five percent of the Earth's surface, the survivors, especially the children, needed any sort of joy they could latch onto.

Where was my joy when I needed it?

Rick's grip on the control stick tightened. His mind propelled him back in time, to when he was six-years-old.

Why isn't Mommy here? I asked Santa. How come he didn't bring Mommy home?

I don't know, son. Maybe . . . maybe Santa's just too busy.

He can't be too busy. He's Santa. Maybe he doesn't like me any more. Well I don't like Santa any more!

"Skull Leader. Skull Leader, respond!"

The authoritative, female voice burst through Rick's memories.

"Skull Leader here," he answered Captain Lisa Hayes, who was currently in the Combat Information Center aboard the SDF-1.

"Skull Leader, be advised. We have received a distress call from the North Pole. Zentraedi forces have commenced attack on Santa's workshop."

"Roger that. Skull Squadron's ETA to target, one-fifty."

"Acknowledged. Ghost Squadron and Scimitar Squadron are en route. They should arrive in twenty minutes."

Rick scowled. Twenty minutes from now this will long be over, one way or the other.

"Roger. Skull Leader, out."

He huffed as the three-plane formation went "feet dry" over the icy expanse of the North Pole. They'd be going into this fight outnumbered nearly five-to-one.

Well, that's nothing new for us. They'd faced overwhelming odds throughout the First Robotech War, and ultimately emerged triumphant.

Still, it didn't mean he liked fighting with the odds against him.

He switched to the intra-squadron frequency. "Max. Miriya. Break right, then circle round to the workshop from the east. I'm going to hit the Zentraedi with a frontal assault, get them to focus all their attention on me. Then you two hit them from behind."

"Roger that. Just be careful, buddy."

"I will, Max."

"Okay, babe. Let's do this."

"Right behind you, Max," Miriya replied.

The Sterlings banked right and blasted over the frozen landscape.

Rick pulled a lever on the left side of the cockpit. The Veritech shuddered as it went through its transformation to Guardian mode. Two arms, one hefting a huge, tubular laser cannon, and two legs protruded from underneath the jet. Banks of missile launchers also sprouted around the Veritech.

Smoke rose in the distance. Rick held his breath as he drew closer.

Shattered candy cane towers lay on the ground. Flames poured from holes in an enormous brown, green and red gingerbread house. Small figures in red and green outfits fled for their lives as Zentraedi battle pods stomped about. Lasers streaked from their gun mounts. A section of wall from Santa's workshop exploded. More bolts tore up the snow. Elves burst into flame. Rick spotted a reindeer darting across the snow. The foot of a battle pod crushed it.

For a brief second, Rick became the angry six-year-old. He could taste his hatred for Santa Claus, the man who failed to deliver the one thing he wanted most in the world.

Rick gritted his teeth. Stop it. Right now. He was no longer six-years-old. He was an adult, a captain in the Robotech Defense Force. He had a mission to carry out.

Protect Santa and his workshop.

His personal feelings didn't matter a damn. He had his orders. He would carry them out.

His thumb mashed down on the fire button. A dozen contrails streaked away from his Veritech and spiraled through the sky. Seconds later flames sprouted near the perimeter of Santa's workshop. A fireball consumed one battle pod. Another toppled onto the ice, one of its legs missing.

Other battle pods turned toward him. Rick jinked hard as lasers flashed all around him. Twice his jet rocked from sledgehammer blows. His display showed a hole in the port wing and a gash in the right leg. He ignored the damage. He could still fly, and fight. That's all that mattered.

Rick let loose another barrage of missiles. Geysers of fire erupted among the Zentraedi. Two of their battle pods exploded. Six others rose into the sky, raining down laser fire.

Rick continued to jink wildly. Bolts of energy tore into the ice around him. Two more jolts went through his Veritech. Still no serious damage . . . for now.

He lifted the Veritech's nose and fired the laser cannon. A beam sliced through the center of one battle pod. Seconds later flame burst from it. The burning wreckage tumbled to the ground and exploded. The five remaining airborne battle pods dispersed, still shooting at him.

Another hit. This one fried some of the fly-by-wire controls. Rick kept jinking, but noticed his jet's movement had become sluggish.

C'mon, Max, Miriya. Where are y-

Missiles streaked through the sky out of the north. Four battle pods flared like miniature supernovas and vanished. The last battle pod rotated in the sky. Laser fire tore into it. It fell toward the ground, trailing smoke.

Max and Miriya's Veritechs rocketed over Santa's burning workshop. Two battle pods laced the sky around them with lasers. The Sterlings' transformed their jets into Battleoid mode, taking on the form of humanoid-like robots. Somersaulting in mid-air, the husband and wife pilots blazed away with their laser cannons.

Both battle pods turned into fireballs.

Rick scanned through the smoke surrounding the area with his LIDAR. Two more battle pods remained. Where were they?

There! He saw them trotting toward the reindeer stables. In front of them ran two other figures, both plump.

Rick's Veritech burst through the flames just as one of the battle pods leaped in front of the fleeing couple. His eyes widened when he recognized one of them. How could he not, with that long, snow white beard, those rosy red cheeks, and that big belly?

Rick Hunter was looking right at Santa Claus. Next to him, staring up at the battle pods in fright, was Mrs. Claus.

He brought up his laser cannon. The targeting system chirped. He had lock.

Why didn't you bring my mother back home?

Rick held his breath as the long-ago anger resurfaced.

Dammit, not now.

He betrayed me.

You have a mission! Carry it out!

His finger came down on the fire button. Lasers shot over Santa and Mrs. Claus. Fire gushed from the battle pod as it keeled over.

The last battle pod spun around. A laser bolt through the middle took care of it.

Rick sighed in relief. The tension dissolved from his muscles. He set the engines to idle and slumped in his seat, breathing slowly.

It's over. I'm alive.

Something moved in front of him. He looked up, staring through the canopy. His teeth clenched when he saw Santa Claus and his wife, waving to him as they approached his Veritech.

Well, I guess I have to.

Rick popped open the canopy, unbuckled himself from his seat, and leaped out of the cockpit.

"Ho, ho, ho. Why if it isn't little Ricky Hunter."

He stiffened as Santa clutched him by the shoulders.

"You saved us all, Ricky, and saved Christmas to boot. We all owe you a big thank you."

"Yeah. Sure. Nothing to it. Just doing my job."

With a final nod, Rick started to turn away.

"I guess I can't blame you for still being mad at me."

Rick's brow furrowed. He turned back to Santa. "What?"

"I still remember your letter when you were six. How you wanted me to bring your mother home for Christmas." Santa hung his head. His rosy cheeks didn't appear so rosy. "Believe me, son, I wish I could have done that for you."

"Then why didn't you? I mean, you're Santa Claus."

"Even Santa Claus has his limits. Oh sure I can fly around the world in a single night, deliver toys to good little boys and girls, fill their lives with joy. But when it comes to the really big stuff, the really important stuff, well, a lot of times, my hands are tied."

"Why? You're supposed to spread cheer and all that. Well having my mother come home for Christmas would have made me happy."

"I know it would have, Ricky. And I sympathize. It must be awful, having your mother run out on you and your father, never seeing her again. Maybe I do have the magic to fix that and make it all better. But if I start solving everyone's problems, if I have everyone dependent on me, how will that help anyone?"

Rick canted his head. "I don't understand."

Santa grinned and rested a hand on his shoulder. "Men and women must be allowed to follow their own paths in life. They must be masters of their own destiny. Yes, everyone will encounter challenges in life, and they must have the chance to overcome them on their own, to stand on their own two feet, to emerge from these challenges stronger than before. Thus, they will become better human beings. They can't always rely on some fat old man to snap his fingers and make everything better. Why, take yourself as an example. Obviously, your mother running out on you was a traumatic experience. You could have used that as an excuse to become a bitter man, or worse, a bad man. But that didn't happen. You came through that period stronger. It helped forge you into the man you are today. A fighter, a leader, a man of great compassion, a man who has risked his life to protect his fellow human beings, and who will continue to do so for a long time. Now, would that have happened if I had stepped in and magically made everything better?" Santa shrugged. "Who can say? But believe me when I say that you are a good man, Ricky. Or should I say, Captain Hunter."

Rick just stood there, staring at Santa. He didn't know what to say. Heck, he didn't even know what to feel. He'd been angry at Santa for so long, blaming him for not bringing Mom home for Christmas.

But he didn't let that anger consume him. He had outlets for it, like flying. He also had other people who cared about him, like his father, like Roy Fokker.

Of course, they were both dead. But they weren't the only ones who cared about him. He had Max and Miriya. Minmay. Lisa.

In spite of everything that had happened over the past three years, he did have a pretty good life. He had turned out to be a pretty good guy.

Maybe, just maybe, the time had come to bury those ghosts that had been with him since he was six.

Another Veritech landed next to them. The canopy rose and Max waved to them.

"Hey, Captain. Oh wow. Hey, Santa. Mrs. Claus. You guys okay?"

"Yes we are, Max." Santa nodded to him. "Thank you, very much. Rest assured you and Miriya will find something very special under your tree this year. You too, Ricky."

Rick couldn't help it. A smile spread over his face.

"Looks like your workshop took a pounding," Max said. "Hey, I'm sure we can get one of our engineering battalions up here to help fix it. I mean, we can't let anything keep Christmas from coming, can we?"

"You're right about that, Max. Ho, ho, ho."

"Actually . . ." Rick took a deep breath before continuing. "If it's not a problem, maybe I can stay here and help with some of the repairs. After . . . well, after the way I acted when I was a kid, it's the least I can do."

Santa beamed and patted him on the shoulder. "I appreciate that, Ricky. I appreciate that a lot."

Rick's smile widened. He spun around. "Max, you and Miriya fly CAP in case any more Zentraedi show up." He referred to Combat Air Patrol. "I'm staying groundside to give Santa a hand."

"You got it, boss. Hey, Merry Christmas, Santa. Mrs. Claus."

Max took to the sky to rejoin his wife.

"Well, Mother," Santa looked to his wife. "You should tend to the wounded. Ricky and I will round up the surviving elves and get the workshop back up and running."

"Of course, dear." Mrs. Claus kissed her husband on the cheek and headed off.

Santa put an arm around Rick and steered him toward the shattered workshop. "Well, let's get to work, my dear boy. And once we're all through, I promise there'll be a big plate of gingerbread cookies and a big mug of cocoa waiting for you."

Rick patted Jolly Old Saint Nick on the back. "I'd like that, Santa."

THE END . . . MERRY CHRISTMAS

AUTHOR NOTES 1: Thank you for reading. If you enjoyed the action in this story, check out my original sci-fi invasion novel "Dark Wings" (by John J. Rust), available from Amazon and as an ebook at smashwords-dot-com.

AUTHOR NOTES 2: Now that FFN has the image manager to allow us to have "covers" for our stories, I'd like to take advantage of it. Unfortunately, I have no artistic talent whatsoever. If anyone out there is inspired to create a cover for this story, or any of my other stories, please PM me about it.