America's Galactic Foreign Legion - Book 21: Breaking Very Bad
Page 15
“Am I in trouble?”
“Moscow wants you to return immediately.”
“Shit.”
“The KGB is not happy. They think you are part of an American and alien plot of world domination.”
“The KGB is never happy. What about everyone else?
“That depends on who you talk to,” explained the aide. “The Polacks and Krauts are happy, but the Ukraine wants to be freed, too. So do the Chechens.”
“What’s a Chechen?”
“Muslim terrorists by the Caspian.”
“Who let them in?”
“They’re indigenous.”
“Damn. How come no one told me?”
“I’m telling you now.”
“I’m not going back. I love New York.”
“This is Washington, D.C.”
“I love Washington, D.C., too. God bless America. I want to buy a capitalist ranch in Montana, under that big blue sky. I will not freeze my ass off in a Siberian gulag.”
“You have to return. It’s your duty. The Chinese are massing troops at the border, demanding we free the People’s Republic of Mongolia. Only a show of strength on your part can save the Soviet Union.”
“I don’t give a rat’s ass about Mongolia.”
“Weakness sets a bad precedent. We cannot cave, or all will be lost.”
“You’re right!” announced Yeltsin, marshaling his resolve as he read details in the Post about being a Nobel nominee. “We’ve got Martians on our side now. I signed a peace treaty. If the Chinese cross Gobi, nuke them.”
Epilogue
Scandal strikes, no matter the success of an administration. Russian cosmonauts hitching a ride to the moon with aliens found a shallow grave containing human remains. Forensics indicated the corpse was missing Teamster’s President Jimmy Hoffa. Originally, Hoffa was suspected of absconding with union pension funds, but now someone had serious explaining to do. Already, big-rig truckers sounded their horns at spontaneous demonstrations across the country, blocking highways and city centers.
President Patton sighed, slumping in his chair, trying to enjoy this birthday extravaganza, a star-studded Washington, D.C., social event. He reminisced about his misspent youth, wondering where it had disappeared to. It must be hiding somewhere between winning lottery tickets and world peace. A very fetching Marilyn Monroe sang a seductive ‘happy birthday’ song for her Commander in Chief.
‘First Lady Marilyn Monroe’ has a nice ring to it, mused Patton, daydreaming. It had been almost a decade since Beatrice died, long past time to move on and find another true love. Being President had its perks in that regard. Alien Fountain of Youth microchips embedded in Patton’s bones made him youthful as ever, literally a new man. It used to be that life really began when a person first realized how soon it would end. Now, there’s lot of time, and it’s just good to be President. It is also a great time for America.
A scholar and maker of history, Patton intended to continue making his mark on the world. His presidency was just the start of American projection of power and culture, and of a long line of successful Republican administrations. The galaxy was still to be conquered, and Democrats would never be allowed past Mars.
* * * * *
All in all, everything turned out pretty well for America. My work here accomplished, I decided it was time to return home to my own time and face the music. Except the tune I planned to hear would be decidedly pleasant. General Daly and I were going to have a more serious discussion about using nukes to clinch American sovereignty on New Colorado. And there’d definitely be a confiscation ban instituted on green flares both sides of the DMZ.
I contemplated leaving Phil Coen behind, but he’d stuck close by ever since the Arthropodans had made first contact on the moon. I still didn’t trust those spider bastards, but I was sure shadowy ‘General’ Lopez would be keeping a close eye on them.
On the way back to the time machine, I patted Coen on the back and said, “Any place else you want to go, Phil, before we head home? I think we’ve got time for one more little detour.”
Coen rubbed his ass where Hoover had cut out his microchip. “No, I think we’ve done enough damage.”
I shrugged. “My motto’s always been, ‘No time like the present to enjoy yourself, for tomorrow you may die.’”
“No one knows what tomorrow will bring, Czerinski. It’s an unwritten law of the universe that shit can break bad at any moment.”
I situated myself behind the time machine control console. “Another law just begging to be broken.”
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America’s Galactic Foreign Legion – Book 22
coming soon at your favorite online book sources!
~ABOUT THE AUTHOR~
Walter Knight played football on Tucson High School’s last state championship team (1971). He served three years in the army, and the GI Bill paid for his college education, helping him earn degrees from Fort Steilacoom Community College, Central Washington State College, and the University of Puget Sound School of Law.
Walter lives a very quiet and private life, residing with his family and horses, dogs, cats, and fish atop a hill in rural Washington. Walt enjoys taking road trips to explore ghost towns and casinos.
To find out more about the author and his books, visit his web site.
www.waltknight.yolasite.com
~TABLE OF CONTENTS~
Story Summary
Copyright Information
Books by the Author
Author Acknowledgement
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Epilogue
About the Author
Table of Contents