America's Galactic Foreign Legion - Book 21: Breaking Very Bad

by Walter Knight

  “We’ll see.”

  Chapter 14

  Skyler drove up to the ATM at the Wells Fargo Bank of Albuquerque to withdraw three hundred dollars from her checking account. Already overdrawn, she hoped that if she could take money late Friday, she would have time to make a deposit Monday before checks in the mail were cashed. Her husband was missing again, doing who knows what, and she didn’t know what else to do. Fugue state, my ass, she fumed. Pregnant, tired, and frustrated, Skyler was at her wits end.

  “Three hundred dollars, Mrs. White?” asked the ATM sympathetically, continuing to spit out hundreds. “Take a few thousand. Your account is good for it.”

  “A talking ATM? What? No! Stop giving me money. Are you broken?”

  “It’s your money. Take as much as you want.”

  “How is that possible?”

  “Your husband wants you and Flynn to join him in Roswell. The original plan was for you to be abducted by aliens, but that’s against the law. It’s written somewhere in the Constitution that alien abductions will not be tolerated.”

  “Walter was abducted by aliens?” asked Skyler doubtfully. Someone in line honked their horn. She flipped them the one-fingered salute. “You give me back my husband right now. I want to talk to the manager!”

  “Mr. White warned me you might be a bit bitchy, and need convincing. If you choose to stay, you will be well provided for, but he really needs to talk to you and Flynn face-to-face in Roswell.”

  “How dare you talk to me like that!”

  “Sorry, we got off topic. A new life awaits you in Roswell.”

  “I don’t understand,” cried Skyler. “Wells Fargo has abducted Walter and is holding him in Roswell?”

  “Your husband’s cancer has been cured by alternative medicine. We can also cure Flynn’s cerebral palsy, and restore your youth and stunning good looks.”

  “I don’t know what kind of scam you are running, but I won’t have any part of it,” replied Skyler, glancing at herself in the rear view mirror.”

  “Scam?” asked the ATM, genuinely hurt as it continued to dispense hundred-dollar bills. “I am honest, if I am any thing else. This offer will not be repeated. Your husband only wants to provide for his family. Let him. A luxury suite has been reserved for you at the Alien Inn & Hotel in Roswell. Go see your husband. Get a massage and be pampered. He will explain everything. You have nothing to lose. If you don’t want to leave for a new life, you can still keep the cash, it’s as good as money. I am the last ATM you will ever need.”

  Several cars honked their horns. Upset, Skyler parked her car and stormed into the bank, plunking a shopping bag of money on the manager’s desk.

  “Your ATM is broke. I do not intend to be arrested because of your mistakes!”

  “Mrs. White,” greeted the manager in a friendly tone. “Our ATMs do not make mistakes. That’s your money. Do you want to make a deposit? I’ll handle it personally. Please, have a seat. I see you’re expecting.”

  “Do you know that your ATM talks?”

  “About what?”

  “Aliens, going to Roswell.”

  “I see. I’ll have our tech people look into it. Is there anything else I can help you with today, Mrs. White?”

  “I don’t know what to do,” answered Skyler, slumping in her chair, weeping. “It’s my husband. He’s driving me crazy, and now this. How can this money be mine?”

  “When you get to Roswell, I am sure Mr. White will explain everything.”

  “Who said anything about joining Walter in Roswell?” asked Skyler, jumping up. “You’re in on it!” She looked around. Tellers and customers were all staring. “You’re all in it. This is a conspiracy!”

  “Please, Mrs. White. Can I call someone? Think of your condition. Think of Holly”

  “No!”

  The manager’s phone rang. It was Private Valtar Whyte. The manager handed the phone to Skyler. “Honey, please join me in Roswell,” requested Whyte impatiently. “Bring Flynn. It will all make sense, once you get here. Pack light.”

  “Roswell?”

  “Yes, dear. It’s a hotspot.”

  * * * * *

  Skyler drove her fifteen-year-old son Flynn directly to Roswell. The penthouse suite atop the Alien Inn & Hotel looked like a giant silver hubcap-shaped flying saucer, a perfect disguise for the time traveling Legion shuttle. The 360-degree view of greater Roswell was fantastic, especially as the sun set. I met Skyler and her son, accompanied by her husband, Private Whyte, Corporal Tonelli, Corporal Wayne, and Medic Ceausescu. Meeting Corporal Wayne had the desired unsettling affect.

  “What the fuck?” asked Flynn, poking the big spider legionnaire to see if he was real. “Are we being abducted by aliens?”

  “Watch your language,” admonished Skyler, nervously pulling her son away. “Never drop the F-bomb while making first contact with alien monsters armed to the teeth, or fangs, or whatever. Get away from it!”

  “It’s okay,” said Private Whyte, comforting his wife with a hug and kiss. “Corporal Wayne swears much worse. He’s basically harmless.”

  “Poke me again, human pestilence, and you will lose that digit,” threatened Corporal Wayne, waving a large jagged combat knife. “Do I make myself clear, you gimpy meat-sack?”

  “This is why you disappear for days at a time?” asked Skyler, punching Whyte. “You were abducted by aliens and a government conspiracy?”

  “I know it’s hard to fathom, but I enlisted into the military,” explained Whyte, modeling his black Legion uniform and weapons with an awkward pirouette. “I have to go back to the future with Colonel Czerinski. I want you, I want my family to join me.”

  “Even if I believed you, I can’t just leave my home and everything I know.”

  “Your husband had cancer,” I interrupted, shaking Skyler’s hand. “I’m Colonel Czerinski. Our doctors cured the cancer. It was a simple process. They can cure your son’s cerebral palsy, too. Fountain of Youth microchips can restore your youth, adding two hundred years of life. Even your breasts will be perky again.”

  “Why, Walter?” asked Skyler, annoyed as she tried to adjust herself. “What’s the catch? What’s in it for you?”

  “Your husband helped us kill the Grim Reaper. This is a favor for being a Hero of the Legion.”

  “Way to go, Dad!” shouted Flynn, giving a high-five slap. “What’s a Grim Reaper?”

  “I’ll show you a helmet camera video if you want,” I offered. “Actually Private Pink did it.”

  “The Grim Reaper got whacked,” added Corporal Tonelli. “Good deeds create a lot of goodwill.”

  “Did you say I won’t need these crutches anymore?” asked Flynn enthusiastically. “I’m going with them.”

  “You will run like the wind,” I promised. “Guaranteed. Even play football. A big strapping young man like yourself might be interested in joining America’s Galactic Foreign Legion. All you need is one parent’s signature.”

  “Really?”

  “The Legion has a great medical plan. No more Obamacare.”

  “Flynn is not running off to war,” protested Skyler. “He will attend junior college right here in New Mexico.”

  “I’ve leaving for space to fight evil aliens,” argued Flynn. “You can’t stop me. Dad, tell her!”

  “Honey, this is a tremendous opportunity for us all,” pleaded Whyte, taking Skyler’s hand. “Please, dear. Look up into the mystical dry night air at the perfect silence of the stars. Cross those stars with me, sweetheart, hand in hand.”

  “Walt, you’re so full of bullshit.”

  “I can make all our dreams come true.”

  For the first time Skyler noticed her husband seemed younger, stronger, more confident. Could it be true? “I can really be young again? I can have perky boobs?”

  “Yes, my love.”

  “Can I say goodbye to my sister?”

  “No,” I answered. “You leave now, or never.”

  “I’ll do it!”

&n
bsp; “Then it’s settled,” I said, nodding to the medic. “Administer their shots.”

  Medic Ceausescu used an air compression hypo to inject Fountain of Youth microchips into Skyler and Flynn. “After a good night’s sleep, you both will literally be new people,” she advised. “You will like New Colorado. It’s hotter than Hell, but it’s a dry heat.”

  “Blast off,” I ordered. “It’s time!”

  As shuttle engines activated, family attorney Saul Goodman burst through the door, making a beeline for Skyler. “Sorry for the delay, I got caught in traffic. Obviously there is much need for representation going on here. I don’t believe you’ve been interrogating my clients before I got here. Don’t say another word to the feds!”

  “Stop!” ordered Corporal Wayne, positioning himself between Skyler and Goodman. “Who are you?”

  “You haven’t seen me on TV?” asked Goodman, feigning angst. “Better call Saul! I’m the last attorney you will ever need.” Goodman took a step back, quietly sizing up Corporal Wayne, the first time ever speechless. “What the fuck?”

  “Don’t F-bomb the alien,” whispered Flynn. “He’ll cut you bad.”

  “Quite right,” agreed Goodman still smiling, handing Corporal Wayne his number on a matchbook. “If you need representation, Big Guy, I’ll file a writ of habeas corpus faster than you can say Star Trek or alien autopsy.”

  “Is he coming, too?” asked Medic Ceausescu, raising her air gun hypo impatiently.

  “Whoa, back off with that thing, Sugar Tits,” protested Goodman. “I almost never swap bodily fluids on the first date.”

  “This shyster would never be allowed past Mars,” I answered dismissively. “We’ll just dump him in the Roswell desert, naked and probed, standard Air Force Blue Book cover-up procedure.”

  “Probed? Let’s not be hasty. Just spit-balling here, but I can be useful as Skyler’s family attorney to make her transition to your Brave New World more palatable. It’s my legal opinion we all need to be on the same page. The Devil is in the details. Dumping me is a slippery slope. Come on, throw me a bone!”

  “The less people we take, the less chance of paradoxes,” I explained. “The slime ball attorney stays. It’s the law.”

  * * * * *

  The shuttle beamed across the galaxy and time itself to New Colorado. In moments, the Whites – now Whytes – stepped off the ramp to New Gobi City. Legionnaires welcomed our return.

  “This place looks just like New Mexico, except it’s different,” marveled Skyler, looking about. “What a dump.”

  The Land of Enchantment it’s not,” greeted DEA Agent Hanks at the bottom of the ramp. “I hate to sound insensitive, but I can’t believe they let you scumbags past Mars.”

  Chapter 15

  The battalion deployed east to Scorpion City, our mission to keep the peace between spiders and scorpions along the border. The Arthropodan Empire, still chaffing about their defeat at Diablo, bombed the brewery with bunker-busting bombs as we left, destroying the blue powder lab. I texted a strong letter of protest. At Scorpion City, I drove my armored car to the drive-up window at McDonald’s. “I’ll have three thousand Big Macs and fries to go,” I ordered, swiping my card on the menu. “How’s the radiation levels these days?”

  “High enough to kill most humans,” smirked the scorpion clerk. “You best go home. Don’t you know you’re not welcome here?”

  “Someone needs to protect you sissy scorpions from the big bad spiders.”

  “We had spider on the menu at Diablo. Is that where you traveled from?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then you are Colonel Czerinski, the famed Butcher of New Colorado?”

  “I get a lot of bad press.”

  “We love your body of work, human. But, you still need to leave.”

  “Legionnaires go where they are ordered.”

  When my Big Mac order arrived, I did a DNA scan on the meat, finding substantial traces of scorpion DNA in the secret sauce. I sent Sergeant Williams inside to investigate. He lined all scorpion employees in a row, taking DNA swabs for analysis. He found one match. It was the smirker who took my order.

  Sergeant Williams let out a rebel yell as legionnaires pummeled the mouthy scorpion clerk, placed him in restraints, and attached him to the front bumper of my armored car. No one spits or does other unmentionable things on my burger and gets away with it. Outside of town, I had the scorpion shot.

  * * * * *

  I met Major Desert-Sting of the Scorpion City National Guard for a briefing on the tense situation at the border. The spiders were massing armor and artillery. Drone flights were violating American airspace, upsetting the locals.

  “Want a burger?” I offered conversationally. “If there is going to be war, it is important that we not fire the first shot. Understand?”

  “One more provocation, and an entire army of National Guard is going to swarm north. Great burger, by the way. What’s that spicy taste, barbecue?”

  “If I told you the secret sauce wouldn’t be a secret. The Legion is relieving your troops at the border crossing checkpoint to prevent incidents. You will pull back your armor and stop shooting at their drones.”

  “Your policy of appeasement will not work,” warned Major Desert-Sting. “It’s nothing but folly.”

  “You’re not seeing the big picture,” I explained patiently. “The Arthropodan Empire is an American ally. Scorpion City is an autonomous dominion of America. You best remember that.”

  “Learn the hard way,” Major Desert-Sting warned with a sigh. “Spiders cannot be trusted.”

  * * * * *

  A favorite spider tactic to harass legionnaires along the DMZ was to send trained monitor dragons though the minefields and wire to attack sentries. Coal black, the lethal dragons were nearly invisible at night.

  Private Pink sat at his post asleep. Private Badger wasn’t much more alert, leaning on a sandbag at the bunker window, rolling a marijuana cigarette. The stealthy dragon crept up to the window and leaped, jaws clamping hard on Badger’s arm. Badger punched the dragon on the snout as it thrashed back and forth, to no avail. “Help, get off me, bitch!” he shouted, as his arm was torn off at the shoulder.

  The dragon fell back out the window as Badger collapsed to the floor, bleeding out. Pink woke, firing his rifle on full automatic into the darkness, but the dragon was gone. Instinctively, he applied direct pressure with his bare hands to stop the bleeding, saving Badger’s life. Toxic saliva already caused Badger to go into shock as legionnaires arrived, drawn by the sound of gunfire.

  “What happened?” asked Sergeant Williams, applying bandages and tying a tourniquet. “Did you fall asleep, again?”

  “It came out of nowhere, a giant dragon!”

  “It came from the window,” corrected Sergeant Williams. “Was Badger asleep, too?”

  “Oh, hell no,” answered Pink defensively. “Is Badger going to die?”

  “Badger will be okay when the pain stops,” assured Sergeant Williams as Badger was carted away on a stretcher by medics. “Don’t worry. The Legion will fit him for a brand new metal arm and hand. He’ll be back with us in no time.”

  “A dragon almost killed him. How does that happen in a sane world?”

  “Let this be a lesson. Everything in the desert pokes, stings, or bites, conspiring to kill legionnaires.”

  “Getting eaten by a dragon so wrong in so many ways!”

  “The spiders sent that monitor dragon. Mark my words, Pink. The Legion will get payback for Badger. You will get payback.”

  * * * * *

  Private Pink fell dead tired inside his tent. Badger’s blood still stained his uniform. Slowly, a razor sharp scythe slit open the tent wall, allowing the Grim Reaper to silently enter. He lorded over Pink in all his menacing skeletal glory, tapping Pink with the tip of his blade. “Wake up, fool!”

  “Get off me!” cried Pink, scrambling to the far corner. “I thought you were dead. I saw you die. I killed you myself!”
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  “Not so much, but you gave me a splitting headache. When will you legionnaires realize you can’t cheat Death? Every life comes with a death sentence. Everyone dances with me eventually.”

  “Yo, what are you? Gay? I don’t dance with dudes.”

  “I am not gay.”

  “Gay.”

  “Not!”

  “Are!”

  “Your duffel is full of blue powder,” continued the Grim Reaper testily. “Open it.”

  “You came for a taste?” asked Pink smugly. “It will cost you big stacks.”

  “I’m not using,” professed the Grim Reaper. “I’ve been in rehab. You know, ten steps and all that. God quit cold turkey. I do not want your blue powder for myself. I have a use for those poisoned packets you made.”

  Pink stepped back, surprised.

  “Ah, you didn’t think I knew about the poison? Stupid humans think you’re so clever.”

  “It will still cost you. I’m not a charity, yo.”

  The Grim Reaper produced a pouch holding an armadillo. Its hollow eyes sent a chill through Pink. He turned away. It was an Armadillo from Hell.

  “Do you want revenge on the spiders for what they did to your friend Badger? Of course you do. I can help.”

  “Why? What’s in it for you?”

  “It’s what I do,” he explained, laughing. “Remember what I told you back on Old Earth: No half measures.”

  * * * * *

  Pink crouched at the edge of a minefield, duct-taping packets of poisoned blue powder to the Armadillo from Hell. Not going to say it. Oh, what the hell. Ha! Another use for duct tape.

  Pink watched the armadillo trot north through the concertina wire to the Arthropodan side. A shot rang out. Three sage camouflaged spider marines and a leashed dragon emerged from the brush. They greedily tore at the packets. Pink called through a communications pad taped to the shell. “Yo, spider bitches! Merry Christmas from humanity! Don’t snort it all at once!”