“There’s no such thing as the Mafia,” advised Skinny Pete. “Just saying.”
“You’re an addict, aren’t you?”
“I’ve been clean a while, but the rush, the sweet temptation, it draws you back. Once you’ve done blue powder, are you ever really free?”
“Liar!” shouted the spider commander, shooting Skinny Pete in the head. Blood splattered across Badger, terrifying the loveable sidekick even more.
“Who is your commanding officer?” the spider commander demanded.
“Major Lopez of the Legion,” answered Badger. “Please don’t kill me!”
“You work for the Cartel? Why are you not using drones to smuggle drugs?”
Glancing at his dead cohort splayed in the sand, Badger recalled Lopez’s excuse for not providing better resources and grumbled, “Tortoises are lame. Low tech is better, my ass.” He looked up at the spider commander. “We told you what you want to know about the lab. So, I can go?”
“Not likely, human pestilence.”
“Can’t we all just get along? Some of my best friends are you spiders.”
“You spiders?” echoed the spider commander, offended. “I should shoot you in the head now and leave your body slumped over your partner’s. Two more fools to be claimed by the New Gobi Desert, two less members of the Actors’ Guild. However, the matter needs more study.”
Obviously feeling magnanimous, the spider commander spared Badger. “If indeed you putrid jellified mass of human pestilence are as loveable as you claim, you might be useful as a spy for the Empire.” The spider commander dialed his translation device down to outlawed Albuquerque Mafia slang and added, “Yo, punk-ass fool, you will be my snitch on the inside, or I’ll whack you.”
“No way I’ll be your alien bitch,” protested Badger. “I’m a righteous dude. I don’t roll that way.”
“Bitch. Yes, that’s the word I was looking for,” agreed the spider commander, fine-tuning the translator beyond politically correct civilized limits. “Yo, biotch! You will do my bidding because I got yo punk-ass bent over between a rock and a much harder substance, probably titanium.”
“Say what?”
“Snitch or die!”
“Fine, bro. You got me. I’ve gone over to the Dark Side. Who would have thought loveable Badger would be a snitch for the alien feds in a galaxy far, far away?”
“Stop whining!” ordered the spider commander, back-clawing Badger across the face again. “You will provide details about human pestilence drug cartels.”
“Yes, lord and master gnarly spider dude.”
* * * * *
Badger wandered in from the desert like Amos Moses, dehydrated and babbling tales of alien abduction. Legionnaires gathered to gawk. At the border crossing gate, Badger hugged his long-lost friend, Jesse. Private Whyte backed away, hoping to not be so conspicuous.
“Thank God you’re here. I heard you escaped Old Earth. The spiders murdered Skinny Pete, but not before torturing and doing unmentionable things.”
“You were probed?” asked Pink. “I don’t think I could handle that. I’d rather die.”
“What’s your name?” asked Sergeant Green, interrupting the love fest.
“Badger.”
“Do you have a last name, Badger?”
“I’m CIA. If you knew my real identity, I’d have to kill you, yo.”
“Like hell, you say,” responded Sergeant Green, grabbing Badger and shaking him. “I will have you shot if you don’t start talking. How do you know Private Pink?”
“Jesse is my bro from back in the real world,” explained Badger, clutching Pink tighter. “Jesse can vouch for me!”
“Get off me!” shouted Pink, wanting to shut Badger up. The fool never knew when to shut up.
“Don’t be like that,” pleaded Badger. “Hook a brother up. What are you doing on New Colorado?”
“Getting a life,” answered Pink. “You’re snitching for the CIA? You wearing a wire?”
“Don’t go there, bro.”
“Drop your droopy drawers,” ordered Sergeant Green. “Do it now!”
“No way,” protested Badger. “I don’t roll that way. I’m not wearing a wire.”
“He’s a snitch,” exclaimed Pink, shoving Badger.
Legionnaires immediately pummeled Badger, giving him the boot. Snitches weren’t tolerated out on the frontier. Sure enough, upon close examination an alien microchip was found embedded in Badger’s flabby ass. Sergeant Green drew his pistol for summary execution of the traitor.
“Perhaps Colonel Czerinski might want to interrogate the prisoner,” suggested Private Whyte, stepping forward, a voice of reason amid the chaos. “It’s just a thought.”
“You won’t die so easy,” threatened Sergeant Green, releasing Badger from his grip. “You will be killed slow and painful, spilling all your secrets, including your last name.”
“Never! My last name isn’t even in the credits. It’s a secret even to me. I demand representation. I’m a current dues-paying member of the Actors’ Guild. I want a lawyer!”
“We’ll see about that, Mr. Badger. No slimy lawyer, or even a union rep, will save you now.”
Chapter 3
I woke to the sound of air-raid sirens. A single Arthropodan missile slammed into Pizza Hut. Uninvited, DEA Agent Hanks met me at the crater that was once the finest restaurant in New Gobi City. The blast uncovered a cavern containing a large industrial infrastructure. What the hell?
“This is bad,” commented Major Lopez. “Where do we eat lunch now?”
“I’ve seen this before,” mused Agent Hanks, ignoring Lopez’s concern. “There was a blue-powder lab under Taco Bell.”
“Taco Bell makes blue powder?” I asked. “Who knew? How long has this been going on?”
“Usually it’s fast food chicken, but the drug cartels are expanding their MO. Next it will be Burger King or McDonald’s.”
“No way,” I scoffed. “McDonald’s is an American icon.”
“Exactly why we must be unrelenting in our war against drugs.”
“I’m not a cop,” I groused. “I shouldn’t have to get involved in fighting your war on drugs.”
“It’s not just my war. We’re all involved, whether we like it or not.”
I relented. “I’ll order all fast food distribution centers searched, starting with KFC.”
“How did the spiders know about the drug lab?” asked Major Lopez, picking through the rubble.
“Drug lab or not,” I countered, “it sets a bad precedent, letting them bomb our fast food.”
“I agree the bugs should have warned us,” Agent Hanks conceded, “but I say we cut our losses and move on.”
“Still, they should have given us a head up,” I argued. “I’ll send the spider commander a stern warning not to kill our drug dealers south of the border without telling us first.”
“They did us a favor. One less dirt bag on our side,” advised Agent Hanks, spitting into the pit. “Like it or not, we’re all in for the duration, and I’m fighting this war to the death.”
* * * * *
In traditional Legion manner, I hung Badger upside down for interrogation from a ceiling hook. He defiantly braced for the worst, swinging back and forth, fighting his restraints. Too bad, so sad for Badger.
“Go ahead, waterboard me. I’m up for it. Give it your best shot!”
“Waterboard?” I scoffed. “We don’t do that anymore. Too messy. I wouldn’t want to violate your Constitutional rights. I’m going to stick you in the testicles with a hot poker.”
“Okay, I’ll talk! The drug lab belonged to the CIA. It was all Major Lopez’s idea!”
“I’m not surprised,” I accused, turning on Lopez. “Well?”
“It was a sting operation,” answered Lopez. “But there was a leak. Badger must have turned traitor. That explains the chip in his ass. I say we shoot him now.”
“Not so fast!” interrupted Eugene Depoli, Legion attorney, bursting into the dungeon, waving
legal papers. “I’m here to spring Badger.”
“He’s a master spy,” accused Major Lopez. “The traitor will face a firing squad.”
“Bugle Boy?” scoffed Depoli, laughing. “Badger is dumber than a bag of hamsters. He’s not a master anything.”
“Nevertheless, he’s a traitor and will be shot.”
“Hard times love a chump, but you’re not shooting anyone.”
“He’s responsible for blowing up Pizza Hut.”
“So, eat at Godfathers. Private Badger is a legionnaire, on loan to the CIA, and as such, will be afforded all legalities and protections his Legion and CIA status affords.”
“This puss-sack is a legionnaire?” I asked incredulously. “He’s not in my Legion.”
“How do you think he got past Mars?” asked Depoli triumphantly. “You’re stuck with him for the duration.”
“It will be a short duration.”
“Be that as it may, he’s a legionnaire.”
“Does that mean they have to feed me?” asked Badger. “They haven’t fed me!”
“Shut up fool,” ordered Depoli. “You have the right to remain silent until I get you out of this mess.”
“He won’t last one day in the New Gobi.”
“Not my concern,” replied Depoli. “Badger was specially recruited for his technical expertise.”
“What expertise?” I challenged.
“He’s a highly trained chemist.”
“We’ll see about that,” I responded, cutting Badger down. He landed on his head, knocked out cold. “Another chemical war expert? I am sending a complaint to Legion recruiting.”
“Just because you don’t need him anymore doesn’t mean you can just throw him away, unless you want to pay back his enlistment bonus.”
“I’m not paying back anything!”
“As you said, he won’t last,” threatened Major Lopez. “None of them will.”
* * * * *
Believing in ‘out of sight, out of mind,’ I sent privates Badger, Whyte, and Pink on a long-range patrol led by Sergeant Williams along the DMZ, searching for drug traffickers. Sergeant Williams, just returned from Old Earth, had IRS problems. I wouldn’t wish that on anyone. Like the others, Williams didn’t think things through and didn’t look at the big picture – something I’d learned to do long ago.
Badger and Pink were proof recruitment shortages were affecting Legion standards. I could sympathize with recruiting people who needed a second chance, even petty criminals. But stupid? You can’t fix stupid. I expected both those fools to be casualties of the New Gobi Desert soon. Everything in the Gobi pokes, stings, or bites. Whyte, I wasn’t sure about. He probably wouldn’t last long either, but we’d see.
* * * * *
The patrol dispersed for ambush deployment along a remote trail leading from the border. Scorpion drug smugglers traveled the area frequently. It was only a matter of time before the patrol made contact.
“I have a plan,” advised Private Whyte, crouched behind rocks on a ridge overlooking the trail. “But it will take money.”
“Everyone has a plan until they get punched in the face,” Pink groused. “That’s your problem.”
“I mean it. This will work. The problem isn’t the problem. The problem is your attitude about the problem. You hear me?”
“I have a plan, too. It’s called staying alive this time!”
“Smoking marijuana, eating Cheese Doodles, and masturbating is not a plan,” argued Whyte, angrily grabbing Pink.
“Yo, get off me,” replied Pink, shaking Whyte’s hand off his arm. “Everything takes money. You always think you’re so smart. See where your smarts got us? In the Foreign Legion, that’s where!”
“The Legion is not so bad,” commented Badger, opening an MRE. “At least they feed us.”
“We’re an elite unit,” advised Whyte, ignoring Badger. “There are rumors Colonel Czerinski is charged with guarding a time machine humanity shares with the spiders. That time machine is our freedom.”
“It’s not a rumor,” advised Sergeant Williams, overhearing their conversation as he made his rounds. “I’ve seen it. But, you’ll never get close to it. Because of past glitches, access is restricted.”
“If I could go back in time, I could make things right,” reasoned Whyte. “I could get my family back.”
“You can’t undo the past,” scoffed Sergeant Williams. “It’s been tried. Life moves forward, not back. What would you do? Go back and kill yourself to do it all over again?”
“Why not? It’s got to be better than this. Microchips gave me back my youth, but what good is that without family?”
“AWOL is not an option,” warned Williams.
“Wouldn’t you like to go home and have a second chance?”
“The Legion is your second chance,” admonished Sergeant Williams dismissively. “Don’t blow it.”
A motion detector alarm activated. Sergeant Williams checked his communications pad, then motioned to the others that there was movement on the trail. In minutes, the first scorpions appeared, laden with heavy backpacks as they ambled along the trail at a steady pace. Sergeant Williams let out a rebel yell as he threw a grenade. The lead scorpions died. Others fled or burrowed into the dunes. A survivor twitched, struggling to free himself from his backpack. Sergeant Williams finished him off with a bullet to the head.
“Watch your partner’s back,” ordered Sergeant Williams, probing the sand with a bayonet. “Those bugs can resurface anytime!”
Private Whyte checked the dead scorpion’s backpack. It was full of blue powder. It also contained cash, as good as money. He pocketed the cash and a packet of blue powder.
“Collect those backpacks as evidence,” ordered Sergeant Williams. “Help is on the way to dig those scorpions out.”
As if on cue, a scorpion emerged from the sand, stinging Whyte on the shoulder. The telson broke off on Whyte’s protective vest, but not before injecting venom. Whyte fired his assault rifle into the scorpion as he fell unconscious into a hallucinatory state.
* * * * *
Demons swirled about in Whyte’s mind as the poison took effect. It seemed so real. A black hooded skeletal apparition wielding a long sharp Walmart-tagged scythe pressed the blade menacingly to Whyte’s throat.
“You cheated Death once, but not this time!” taunted the Grim Reaper. “I have you now.”
“This can’t be happening,” cried Whyte, dropping to his knees. “You aren’t real.”
“Oh, I’m real enough,” replied the Grim Reaper as he drew blood from Whyte’s throat. “Aren’t you going to beg for your life? Most legionnaires cry for mama when we meet, but not you, Mr. Whyte. You’re a special case. The Legion used its time machine to steal you from me, but I’m taking you back!”
“What did I ever do to deserve this!” pleaded Whyte, clutching his throat and gasping for air. “All I ever wanted was to raise and love my family.”
“You will join your family in Hell,” promised the Grim Reaper, now face to face with Whyte, the stench of his putrid breath causing Whyte to gag. “No one cheats Death!”
“No!”
Whyte slapped the Grim Reaper alongside his boney head with a packet of blue powder. The powder exploded in a cloud of dust. The grim reaper fell back, dropping his scythe. Whyte’s hallucination stopped.
* * * * *
Pink jerked Whyte away from the scorpion, pulling the telson out of his shoulder. A medic injected anti-venom vaccine as Whyte lay on the ground. “There was a monster,” cried Whyte. “He was going to take me to Hell!”
“Not today,” advised Sergeant Williams, kneeling beside Whyte. “Good job, legionnaire. You made a difference. You’re a survivor. I admire that. You killed that nasty scorpion, but good.”
“What about the monster?”
“Calm yourself. Let the anti-venom take effect. There are always going to be monsters. The Legion will deal with them later. The only monsters here now are in your head.”
“Damn it! It wasn’t in my head!”
“I know, son. You cheated Death. Not many can say that. Thanatos will not be happy. He will seek revenge. He stalks all legionnaires. But for now, you’re a Hero of the Legion. No one can take that away. Savor the moment while it lasts.”
Chapter 4
At battalion formation, I pinned a Hero of the Legion Medal on Private Whyte for killing a scorpion drug trafficker in hand-to-claw combat. Good job, legionnaire. Agent Hanks gave Whyte a DEA Medal of Merit. The two tried to hide their recognition, but their eyes were locked in hatred. Damn, they all know each other.
I’m becoming resigned to the fact that Legion recruiters are accepting volunteers from the past. So be it. If today’s generation isn’t interested in saving the galaxy, let the CIA recruit as many as they want through their time machine. Bring on the best of the best from the past. Join the Legion, meet interesting species, kill them. We’ll be the ‘Legion of the Dead’ soon. Clearly a significant portion of my command are castoffs of time.
Company Commander Captain Columbus trailed behind me and Major Lopez. Columbus sashayed about with that flashy sword. Really? Who does that? A legionnaire’s past was confidential, but too many recruits were coming through the time portal. I continued inspecting the ranks, hiding my alarm.
After dismissal, Master Sergeant Green hung back to talk to Private Whyte. “Whyte, after-action reports indicate you hallucinated as a result of the scorpion sting. Do you remember?”
“No, not to my knowledge,” answered Private Whyte. “Why?”
“Did you not report to Sergeant Williams seeing monsters? Maybe you even saw the Grim Reaper?”
“Don’t be silly. Of course not. There’s no such thing.”
“Do not lie to me.”
“Sergeant, what’s this about? I did my duty, killing a scorpion drug dealer. Let it be.”
“Fine. Go get drunk with your buddies. Do not think the Grim Reaper will just forget about you. He never forgets.”
America's Galactic Foreign Legion - Book 21: Breaking Very Bad Page 2