The first familiar face I saw at the Angry Onion was Pastor Jim. Great. “What are you doing here?” I asked.
“I’m trying to get laid,” slurred Pastor Jim, eyeing some biker babes standing at the bar. “Want to be my wingman?”
“I’ll pass,” I said, finding a table by the wall so I could protect my back. Captain Lopez and Sergeant Green soon joined me.
“Do you think there will be any fights?” asked Sergeant Green, checking the room for the usual suspects. “I’ll bet a month’s pay Privates Krueger and Wayne get into it with someone tonight.”
“I know there is going to be at least one fight tonight,” I said, as I downed my first whiskey. “Because I am going to be in it.”
“You need to set a better example for your men,” suggested Captain Lopez. “You should not be brawling like a recruit.”
“As soon as that spider commander walks in, I’m going to carve him up,” I promised. “That will be example enough for my men.”
About that time, several Arthropodan marines sat at the bar next to Private Krueger. The Angry Onion was thick with spiders. A marine sized up Private Krueger and made a comment about Krueger being too short to sit at the bar, and that he should go home and suck milk with the hatchlings. Private Krueger knocked the spider marine off his barstool with one punch. Other spider marines jumped Private Krueger. Sergeant Green ran over to separate the fighters and to save Krueger. Spider Hell’s Angels bouncers spun Private Krueger and the spider marine into web cocoons and hung them upside down from the ceiling.
When the spider commander finally arrived, I chugged another drink and staggered in his direction. Captain Lopez nodded to Sergeant Green, who nodded to Corporal Washington. They grabbed me just before I got to the spider commander. I threw my bottle. It missed the spider commander, but smashed off his table. Bouncers hung me upside down from the ceiling, too. I spent the evening cursing Lopez, and thrashing about next to Private Krueger.
“It’s not so funny now, is it?” asked Krueger as he swung back and forth, struggling with his restraints. “Welcome to my world, sir.”
“This is insubordination,” I fumed, struggling to reach a throwing knife I had concealed in my boot. “I’ll have everyone involved shot when I get out of this damned spider web!”
Private Wayne came over to gloat. The big spider legionnaire was obviously drunk, bracing himself on a table as he looked up. “How are you doing, sir?” he asked. “Can I get you another whiskey?”
“You will be joining me up here before the night is over, you insubordinate bug!” I shouted. “I will get the last laugh!”
“No one here is big or bad enough to string me up,” boasted Private Wayne, sizing up the crowd. “Fools have tried, fools have died.”
Private Wayne contemplated the profoundness of his vodka-induced poetry, obviously believing he should be published. One of the Arthropodan marines bumped into Private Wayne, causing Wayne to spill his drink. Ordinarily Private Wayne would have been upset, but tonight he was in an exceptionally good mood.
“Excuse me,” said the spider marine. “I did not see you.”
“No harm done,” replied Private Wayne. “I’ll get another drink. I will buy you one, too.”
“I am new here,” said the spider marine. “New Gobi is an interesting place. I think I like it.”
“Yes it is,” said Private Wayne, amicably. “It grows on you.”
“What do you think of that human pestilence statue out front?” asked the spider marine.
“You mean Madam Liberty shaking her fist?” asked Private Wayne. “The sculpture is magnificent.”
“I wonder,” said the spider marine, “what it would look like to see a traitor like you hanging by your neck from the top of that abomination? Scum like you even smell like your human pestilence masters.”
Private Wayne immediately pulled a large jagged combat knife from behind his belt and took a swipe at the spider marine’s throat. The spider marine adroitly stepped back to avoid the knife, and drew his own knives. Bouncers fired shotgun nets at both spiders, and clubbed them into submission after they fell to the floor. Both were strung up and hung upside down next to me and Krueger. I laughed at Private Wayne the rest of the night.
Towards the end of the evening, the spider commander and his aides came over to gloat. By now about a dozen disorderly spider marines and legionnaires were hanging from the ceiling. Private Krueger vomited on the table below, scattering legionnaires, and upsetting Captain Lopez.
“You are a disgrace,” said the spider commander. “You set a poor example for your soldiers. No wonder they are so poorly disciplined.”
“That’s what I told him,” said Captain Lopez, too drunk to get up from his table, and still upset about Krueger.
“If you are the best leadership the Legion has to offer, defeating the human pestilence should be easy,” added the spider commander. “I look forward to the day.”
“Screw you!” I yelled, thrashing about again as I swayed back and forth.
The spider commander then threw his drink in my face. The vodka stung my eyes, and I did not see what happened next. Pastor Jim lunged forward, hitting the spider commander on the head with a beer bottle. Bouncers immediately grabbed Pastor Jim and strung him up. They grabbed the spider commander, too, but he was bleeding so badly he had to be carted off to the hospital for stitches and duct tape. For the rest of the night I had to listen to Pastor Jim babble a sermon about the psychology and technology of the mind, and God. Next time just shoot me.
At closing time, biker babes, human and spider, chose from us hanging in cocoons. Pastor Jim was carried off by two spider biker babes. The biker babes were all giddy and laughing, but Pastor Jim was screaming and yelling for help. We did not see Pastor Jim for a week. When he did finally show up, it was at church services. He looked a little worn out, but was in good spirits. Several of his biker babes were also in attendance, sitting in the first row, singing Praise the Lord louder than most.
Private Wayne was also carried off by biker babes. He did not seem to mind, though. In fact, if I didn’t know better, I’d say he already knew most of the biker babes. How could that be? I looked over at Private Krueger. Private Krueger was unconscious, but biker babes carried him off, too.
A particularly large spider biker babe eyed me, and cut me down. Her exoskeleton was painted green and purple, and she was very drunk.
“Can I buy you another drink?” I asked, trying not to panic.
“Yes you may, you lovely hot human fur ball,” she gushed. “One for the road. Then I am carrying you to my place. I am a traditional old-fashioned female.”
“Cut my hand free,” I suggested. “I have money in my boot for a six pack to go.”
“I do not think so,” said the biker babe, checking my boot for the money, and finding my throwing knife. “Look at what I found. You like to play with knives! Me too, love!”
Sex with an alien species can be a horrifying, traumatic event. What that spider female did and threatened to do with her fangs and mandibles was terrifying. The upside was that I was so drunk, I didn’t care, and even started to get into it. I think she drugged me, too, saying it would enhance my performance. Bitch! They’re never satisfied.
When the sun came up, I woke and found myself alone, naked, on the ground in front of my office. Passersby stared, but dared not stop. I guess maybe Captain Lopez was right. I really should start setting a better example for my legionnaires.
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Chapter 8
The spider commander ordered his engineers to dig their tunnels deeper. The Legion turned the tunnel cave-in next to Walmart into a tourist attraction. The spider commander wanted his next tunnel to reach the human pestilence church up on the hill. He could see the Legion engineers tunneling into the hill as they built up their fortifications to conceal more rocket-launchers and artillery.
The spider commander plotted to plant a tactical nuke under that hill, but the Governor of the No
rth Territory denied his request for nukes. In the DMZ, only the Air Wing had access to nukes. Fine. It did not matter if the governor did not trust him, or still held a grudge. Conventional explosives could easily destroy that hill and all the human pestilence artillery on it.
The governor kept asking about his missing military intelligence officer. The spider commander replied that the military intelligence officer was still missing in action from the Battle of New Gobi. The spider commander said he had cadaver-sniffing monitor dragons searching the rubble looking for him. What more could he do? If the military intelligence officer got caught on the Legion side of the DMZ, he could only hope for the best. Everyone knew how the human pestilence abused prisoners of war. So far, the Legion denied having any prisoners in custody, and had returned all bodies.
Thinking of the Legion reminded the spider commander of the wound on his head. That human pestilence would pay for that with his life. He looked in the mirror. The stitches were healing nicely. Headquarters had denied the spider commander’s request to declare the injuries as combat related. The medal of valor would have looked good in his file. He was convinced the governor did have it in for him. First, the governor exiled him to this godforsaken place. Then, he denied him any chance for glory. The spider commander fumed at the incompetence of the governor. The human pestilence were getting a stronger foothold every day, and all the governor did was send him a few worthless Air Wing pilots.
Today the spider commander went to his newest tunnel to inspect progress for himself. A good commander gets his hands dirty, he told himself. This tunnel went deeper and farther than the others to avoid Legion detection. The spider commander gloated about being ahead of schedule. The engineers were using the newest state-of-the-art tunnel boring equipment. The spider commander talked to his chief engineer deep down in the bowels of the tunnel. Most certainly they were across the MDL. As they talked, water dripped onto the spider commander’s head.
“Is it possible we have finally discovered a water source?” asked the spider commander. He reached up to the ceiling and put a finger over the crack to plug the leak. Water dripped out a couple of inches away. The spider commander plugged that drip too. The crack spread, and more water dripped into his face.
“Fix that,” ordered the spider commander, giving up and walking on. “Water is too precious to waste.”
The chief engineer lagged behind, studying the drip. He spit out some chewing gum and applied it to the crack. The leak sealed. The chief engineer then followed the spider commander back up to the surface. Once topside, they could hear a deep rumble from below. Excited reports of a cave-in blared over the engineer’s radio. Water burst through the tunnel entrance, washing both spiders into a newly formed lake where a rock quarry used to be. After they dragged themselves onto dry land, the commander turned to the chief engineer and said, “Back on Arthropoda we have plumbers that can fix this sort of thing.”
* * * * *
Word got out quickly that there was water and fertile land in the New Gobi Desert. At least one million colonists lined up in a semi-circle around the desert’s edge for a chance at the unassigned lands. Each section of the New Gobi had been marked by the USGF Geological Survey. All the markers were part of a vast global positioning system. When a colonist touched his identification card to any marker, his claim was automatically recorded in a central computer.
It would be a race to the best claims. Colonists lined up for a thousand miles, waiting for the signal boom from the cannons. At precisely noon as planned, Legion howitzers fired in unison. The ‘Boomers’ raced across the sagebrush in dune buggies, trucks, cars, motorcycles, bikes, tractors, mobile homes, ultra-light fliers, on horseback, and on foot. From a distance, the spectacle looked like a New Gobi dust storm. Legionnaires stationed in front of the crowds for supervision ran for their lives to keep from being trampled.
Some canal survey work had already been started. Colonists staked claims to these areas first. Of course, Captain Lopez and I had already claimed many prime sites. The Boomers pressed closer to the DMZ as available claim sites were quickly snapped up. The colonists were told they could not enter the DMZ. Flags marked prohibited areas. However, for many there was no turning back. The choice land behind them was already claimed. The promise of free land in the DMZ was too much to resist. Not finding GPS markers, the Boomers piled rocks to post their claims and mark boundaries. Still there was not enough land to satisfy everyone. About one hundred thousand colonists crossed the MDL and staked claims on the Arthropodan side. There were no border guards to stop Boomers from entering the Arthropodan Empire. Warning signs were ignored or knocked down. The first Arthropodan marine patrols to arrive requested reinforcements and instructions. The spider commander for New Gobi ordered the marines to defend the border and to arrest and/or evict all trespassers.
* * * * *
David Miranda and his oldest son were pounding fence posts on a hill overlooking their new ranch. Soon cattle would be grazing on the shoulder-high grass. Prefab buildings had gone up quickly, and his large family had already settled in. The next major project was drilling the well. Mom, dad, in-laws, sons, daughters, wife, cousins, brothers, and sisters all had come with him for the free land. All that was needed was a willingness to work.
Miranda could see a dust trail on the horizon. It was getting closer. As an Arthropodan marine armored car crested the adjacent hilltop, Miranda sent his son down the hill to warn the others and to radio for help. Miranda glanced at his assault rifle leaning against a fence post as the armored car came to a stop twenty yards away. Damn it, he thought. It is too late to even think about grabbing the rifle now.
“You are trespassing seventy-five miles north of the MDL,” announced a spider marine team leader. “You will leave immediately or face arrest.”
“I am not going anywhere,” replied Miranda. “This is our land.”
“This land belongs to the Emperor,” insisted the spider team leader. “The Emperor orders you to leave.”
The team leader was about to say more, but was interrupted by two low-flying Legion jet fighter bombers responding to radio reports of spider marines confronting colonists. The jets’ flyover was close enough so that the pilots faces could be seen. They circled wide for another pass. Bolstered by the Legion presence, Miranda felt confident he could stand up to the spiders. “I am from Texas,” said Miranda. “And Texans do not back down. We’re staying.”
The spider team leader uneasily eyed the jets as they prepared for another low-level run. He radioed for Air Wing support. The smaller human pestilence that had run off was now returning up the hill with a third trespasser. Both human pestilence carried rifles. The team leader pointed to them. The machine gunner swiveled his turret from Miranda to the approaching human pestilence. He fired a burst of warning shots to halt their advance.
“No!” yelled Miranda, as he lunged for his assault rifle. Miranda grabbed the rifle, rolled, and came up firing on full automatic. The team leader was killed instantly. Bullets pinged harmlessly off the armored turret. The turret gunner swiveled back to Miranda and opened fire, cutting him in half. More bullets hit the turret from down the hill. The machine gunner fired at the two human pestilence approaching, killing them too.
Soon another armored car arrived. This one had mounted cannon. The spiders fired cannon and machine gun rounds at the buildings below. The Legion jets might still be circling, but appeared to have dipped low over another homestead. Arthropodan Air Wing fighter-bombers strafed the ranch and dropped napalm. Human pestilence ran out of the burning buildings. The turret gunner shot the humans as they scattered, to put them out of their misery. The spider marines cautiously advanced to search the debris and check for survivors. None were found. A spider marine noticed a recently beaten-down path through the high grass. He followed to investigate. Where the parted grass ended, the spider looked about, seeing nothing. He squatted and watched stoically for movement.
Only inches behind the spider marine, a
boy lay hidden in the grass. The spider had almost stepped on him. The spider could smell the boy, but could not locate him. Silently the boy slipped off his belt and looped it around the spider’s neck. The spider fell to the side as the boy tightened his grip, squeezing the life out of the bug. The spider’s exoskeleton, quite hard in places, offered little protection to the neck. The boy easily snapped the neck. The head dislodged from the shoulders. The boy carried it away into the high grass, a trophy of war.
The Legion jets could be heard coming closer. A spider team leader yelled out orders to move out. The armored cars raced off to the cover of another hill. They boy, now in shock, went to sleep in the cover of the high grass, still clutching the spider’s head. “Aranas. Yo los mature todo.”
* * * * *
When General Kalipetsis arrived in New Gobi, he immediately requested a meeting with the local spider commander. Tensions were high, and the President did not want another war. General Kalipetsis was at the point that he felt we should just get it over with and push the spiders from New Gobi while we still had them outnumbered. But he had his orders, and the spiders had some legitimate complaints. The spiders were objecting to the thousands of trespassers that spilled over from the land rush. He chuckled. Damn spiders have no sense of humor about trespassing. Also there were rumors and unconfirmed reports of a massacre north of the DMZ. Satellite reconnaissance had yet to confirm that, but a number of squatter shacks had been burned. Colonists were screaming bloody hell about it.
The spider commander, his aides, Captain Lopez, and I joined General Kalipetsis at the Walmart conference room. General Kalipetsis snickered about the MDL running through the conference table, and even through the ashtray. He adjusted the ashtray, noticing it was trespassing ever so slightly. The spider commander, trying not to show his sudden irritation, casually flicked the end of his human-made tobacco cigarette into the ashtray as he moved the ashtray back to its original position.
America's Galactic Foreign Legion - Book 4: Demilitarized Zone Page 5