Allies

by Walter Knight

  “It’s just dichlorodiphenyltrichloroethane,” replied Sergeant Green. “We use it extensively on Old Earth for pest control. It’s harmless.”

  “What kind of pests?” asked the spider commander. “Bugs,” answered Private Garcia, as he pushed another drum down the ramp. “I warned you about your mouth once before!” yelled Sergeant Green. “After this detail, you will be digging latrines!” “Bugs?” asked the spider commander. “How does it kill bugs?” “It kills by opening sodium ion channels in the neurons, causing them to fire spontaneously, leading to spasms and death,” recited Sergeant Green. “But it’s harmless to higher forms of life. It might cause some eggshell thinning among birds, but that’s all. No big deal.”

  “Our nations signed a treaty banning the use of nerve agent,” said the spider commander. “Get these chemicals off XYP now!”

  “This is not nerve agent,” argued Sergeant Green. “It’s just a common synthetic pesticide used in gardens and on crops. Besides, the nerve agent treaty only bans use against each other. It doesn’t bar stockpiling or deployment against scorpions. I don’t know about you, but I don’t want to go down those tunnels chasing scorpions when DDT can do the job for me just fine.”

  “And what of DDT’s effect on my marines?” asked the spider commander. “It sounds deadly to all exoskeleton species. Are we not just bugs to you?”

  “Nonsense,” said Sergeant Green. “Bugs are puny little creatures. We have spider legionnaires now. Do you think I would risk my own legionnaires if I knew DDT could harm them?”

  Corporal John Iwo Jima Wayne dropped a drum of DDT at Sergeant Green’s feet, nearly missing the sergeant. The drum had a slight leak, splashing Sergeant Green’s boots. The big spider legionnaire was clearly upset. “Get someone else to handle this stuff,” he said. “I’m not doing it anymore.”

  “Get back to work,” ordered Sergeant Green.

  “What are you going to do?” asked Corporal Wayne. “Bust me back to private again?”

  “You’ll be digging latrines all day with Garcia!” shouted Sergeant Green. “I will not tolerate insubordination during time of war. You could be shot for mutiny!”

  “What’s the difference if DDT kills me first?” said Corporal Wayne, walking away. “I’d rather be digging latrines. Get your mother to stack these drums.”

  “DDT is dangerous to all exoskeleton species,” added Private Knight. “Everyone knows that.”

  “See!” said the spider commander. “Even your own legionnaires disapprove of DDT.”

  Sergeant Green had enough. He considered chasing after Corporal Wayne, but thought better of it. Wayne was unstable and always wielded his big combat knife when upset. Instead, Green hit Private Knight in the chest, knocking that other loud mouth flat on his back. “We have a job to finish here!” shouted Sergeant Green. “I will take this to Colonel Czerinski. Heads will roll! The rest of you get back to work! These drums had better be stacked when I get back.” Sergeant Green stormed off to the command center, cursing the day they let spiders and idiots in the Legion.

  * * * * *

  I was relaxing in the command center tent, enjoying the air conditioning, when Sergeant Green burst in and let out all my cool air. I never get a moment’s peace.

  “That damned Corporal Wayne is out there fomenting mutiny,” complained Sergeant Green. “He refused to unload drums of insecticide. That oversized spider told me I could get my mother to stack the drums, and now the whole work crew has stopped.”

  “We brought insecticide to XYP?” I asked. “That’s a good idea. We could wipe them all out. Do the spiders know about it yet?”

  “It was Major Lopez’s idea,” said Sergeant Green. “And yes, the spider commander is already complaining about the DDT. He’ll probably be here any moment, spouting garbage about it being a treaty violation.”

  I nodded to Major Lopez. “You take care of Wayne,” I ordered, then turned my attention to Green. “Have the DDT loaded back on the Moon Demon. We can’t use DDT if the spiders are going to object. They’ll make me write another environmental impact statement. I don’t want any more paperwork. We’ll use the DDT later.”

  * * * * *

  Major Lopez busted Wayne back down to private. Again.

  After the work crew finished reloading the DDT drums back onto the Moon Demon, Wayne and the others spent the rest of the day digging latrines. Later, they were posted to a perimeter observation and listening post as far away from Sergeant Green as possible. There still had been no contact with the scorpions, but USGF forces intended to maintain guard. Spider casualties were proof the scorpions were still out there.

  “I’m hungry,” complained Private Knight. “Does anyone have any real food? All I have is MREs.”

  “This is your fault,” accused Private Garcia. “You never know when to shut up. Now Green is going to dump on us every chance he gets.”

  “It’s no one’s fault,” said Private Wayne. “Privates will always be dumped on. Stay alert. You might live another day.”

  “You’re not a corporal anymore,” replied Private Camacho. “Don’t be ordering us around.”

  Private Wayne whipped out his large jagged combat knife and put it to Camacho’s throat. “When I want your opinion, I’ll ask for it.” He released Camacho with a shove.

  “Now you know how I feel,” added Private Knight. “He’s always waving that knife at me.” “Shut up,” ordered Private Wayne. “Punk thinks he’s still a spider marine Special Forces commander,” grumbled Camacho, not loud enough for Wayne to hear. “You better watch it,” advised Private Krueger. “Don’t mess with Wayne. You know how he gets.” As he spoke, a civilian shuttle crashed through the jungle, just past the perimeter. Soon the sound of bulldozers, chain saws, and hammers echoed through the woods. Private Wayne radioed in the activity and led his legionnaires to investigate. Next to the shuttle, human and spider workers were already erecting a prefab building. A large neon Golden Arches sign was already up. They were building a McDonald’s Restaurant. Private Wayne immediately radioed the update to the command center.

  * * * * *

  “They can’t build a fast food restaurant in a combat zone,” Major Lopez replied to Private Wayne over the radio. “You tell them that!”

  I took the radio microphone from Lopez. “Tell them I want a Happy Meal with a large chocolate shake! Those fries had better not be cold, either. And I want one of those apple crisp things for dessert.”

  “Get your own Happy Meal, sir,” replied Private Wayne, disconnecting.

  “Sergeant Green is right about Private Wayne,” I commented, my stomach growling. “That spider is getting real surely. Maybe I should lock him up for a while, to teach him a lesson.”

  * * * * *

  Private Wayne approached the contractor foreman. “Do you have permission to be here?” he asked.

  “Oh, good,” said the foreman, finally noticing the legionnaires. “I’m glad to see the Legion is so Johnnie-on-the-spot to protect us. We’ll be up and running within the hour, and I promise our first meals will be complementary to you and your brave comrades.”

  “Major Lopez says you can’t build a McDonald’s in a war zone,” advised Private Wayne.

  “Nonsense,” said the foreman. “It’s already built. As soon as the nuclear generator is operational, we will fire up the grills. Hot-damn, I can hardly wait to have lunch.”

  “Did you get a building permit or a business license?” asked Private Wayne. “You don’t have permission to be here. It’s not safe.”

  “The Emperor sold the McDonald’s Corporation an exclusive franchise to open fine dining restaurants anywhere in the Empire,” advised the foreman. “That includes Asteroid XYP.”

  “In that case, I’ll have a Big Mac with extra cheese, no pickles, fries, and a large Coke,” said Private Wayne. “Make that to go. Send the bill to Colonel Czerinski.”

  A camera crew from Channel Five World News Tonight broadc
ast McDonald’s first XYP customer to its vast audience across the galaxy and on the database. Overnight the big spider legionnaire became a household fast food icon recognized by billions.

  * * * * *

  At dawn, a scorpion patrol emerged from their tunnel and swarmed the McDonald’s Restaurant. The front door was locked. A scorpion lieutenant knocked on the glass door, alerting a startled employee of their presence. The young worker dropped his mop and ran to get the manager.

  “I’m sorry, sir,” shouted the manager through the glass door, “but this early in the morning, we are only accepting orders at our drive-up window. Don’t you have a car?”

  The scorpion lieutenant signaled to his sergeant, who placed a small explosive charge on the front door lock. “Fire in the hole!” yelled the sergeant, as they dove for cover.

  The terrified manager ran for the safety of the cashier counter as the door shattered. Shards of glass flew everywhere.

  Heavily armed scorpion soldiers darted into McDonald’s in pairs, covering their comrades in a standard leapfrog tactical advance. The scorpion lieutenant used his translation device to scan the brightly lit overhead McDonald’s menu, giving him a readout display of the best fast food Old Earth and the galaxy had to offer. “I will have seven Quarter Pounders with cheese, three Southern Chicken Sandwiches, two Big Macs, and a burger Happy Meal,” ordered the scorpion lieutenant. “Also, I want three regular Cokes, one diet Coke, four coffees with cream, a chocolate shake, and one McFlurry with Oreo cookies – twelve-ounce. Do you take credit cards from out of state?”

  “Sir, we are only serving from our breakfast menu,” replied the manager, nervously. “Would you like to order our Sausage McMuffins with Eggs? They’re quite tasty.”

  “I do not eat pork,” scoffed the scorpion lieutenant. “Sorry, but you must order from our breakfast menu,” said the manager. “Otherwise we would have to clean our grill first.” “You are refusing to serve us?” asked the scorpion lieutenant. “This menu is worthless. Clean your grill! Do it now!” “Lunch meals start at 11:00 AM,” explained the manager. The scorpion lieutenant fired his assault rifle at the breakfast menu overhead display as the manager ducked behind the counter. Sparks and glass dropped all about. “Breakfast is over,” announced the scorpion lieutenant. “Now, will you take our order?”

  “Yes, sir,” replied the manager, emerging from under the counter. He used a damp rag to wipe away debris. “Your orders will be coming right up.”

  “Thank you,” replied the scorpion lieutenant, as he put several coins on the counter. “I want change back from my dollar, just as your advertisement promises. We have been watching you.”

  Video surveillance cameras recorded for broadcast on the database a new first for the McDonald’s Corporation. “Even the enemy loves our burgers and fries,” announced Ronald McDonald. “Try our tasty Sausage McMuffins – on sale all this week.”

  Chapter 3

  “Most of our civilian fleet escaped,” commented the scorpion fleet commander. “Hopefully our landing here in the Arthropodan asteroid belt will provide enough diversion for what’s left of our civilization to flee to safety. The longer we fight and hold out, the further away the fleet can get. Only then can we negotiate a surrender.”

  “Now that human reinforcements have arrived, I do not intend to ever surrender,” advised the scorpion executive officer. “Analysis of radio transmissions and captured computer data indicate the humans eat their prisoners. Their spider allies are still bitter about that.”

  “Isolated incidents have been exaggerated,” reasoned the scorpion commander. “We need more data. Try to capture human soldiers for interrogation.”

  “We already know of their local commander,” advised the executive officer. “Colonel Czerinski is called the Butcher of New Colorado for committing a long string of atrocities across the galaxy. He once faced war crimes prosecution on Arthropoda for eating whole families.”

  “If we kill this Butcher, perhaps we can get better surrender terms when the time comes,” reasoned the scorpion commander. “It is time to see how well the humans can fight.”

  “Preliminary research indicates the humans are the fiercest, most warlike species in the galaxy,” cautioned the executive officer. “They are bred to fight. Humans have warred against every species they have encountered. Their ultimate goal seems to be genocide. When not at war with their neighbors, humans make war upon their own species. They can’t help themselves. They always need to fight someone. Now the United States Galactic Federation has sent its Foreign Legion to exterminate us. The Legion is the worst of the worst. They are sent anywhere killing needs to be done.”

  “Amazing,” responded the scorpion commander. “Yet the humans share a planet peacefully with the Arthropodan Empire? They share New Colorado with spiders, and now the two species are working together against us here on XYP?”

  “I cannot explain that,” said the executive officer. “They still fight a sort of protracted cold war. I expect that eventually the humans will double-cross the spiders and eat them for dinner, after they’ve eaten us.”

  * * * * *

  The scorpion lieutenant led his commandos up through tunnels and into the Legion camp perimeter. He placed explosive charges under the belly of their assault ship, the Moon Demon. The explosion rocked the camp and split the Moon Demon in half. It also knocked out the camp’s main source of power, leaving everything in pitch darkness. Other explosions hit armored cars and supply stocks.

  I fumbled along the ground, trying with no success to find my rifle. I could hear legionnaires running past me in all directions, but could see nothing. More explosions went off, lighting the camp for a split second. I lost even more night vision. Finally, someone fired off an aerial flare. As the flare drifted slowly down, I saw a scorpion slip back into its hole. I fired my pistol into the hole, but could not tell if I hit anything. Frustrated, I dropped a grenade down the hole.

  Sergeant Green had a better idea. He rolled a drum of DDT to the side of the hole and dropped it in. It took several seconds for the drum to hit bottom with a thumping splat. Sergeant Green threw grenades down the hole to release the DDT in a fiery inferno. Other legionnaires soon followed Sergeant Green’s example, dumping the rest of the DDT drums down other scorpion holes. In spite of our agreement with the spiders, we needed to get rid of the DDT. The Moon Demon was not going anywhere soon – thus nor were we – and the scorpions deserved some payback.

  There was sporadic shooting during the rest of the night, mostly jumpy legionnaires shooting into the darkness at jungle sounds. Unknown to us, the DDT caught the scorpions by complete surprise. The spiders had not used chemical weapons, and the scorpions assumed neither would the humans. That miscalculation had devastating consequences. A day later, the scorpions had enough and surrendered.

  Privates Camacho and Garcia were still posted at their distant listening post when the scorpions surfaced. Camacho spotted the first scorpion soldiers pushing up through the ground just short of their bunker position. Camacho threw a grenade as Garcia opened fire.

  “Stop shooting!” cried the scorpion fleet commander. “We surrender!” Camacho threw another grenade. The scorpion commander ducked back down his hole. “Are you deaf?” shouted the scorpion commander, waving a white flag. “We surrender! Stop shooting!” “What?” asked Private Camacho, turning to Garcia. “Are they trying to surrender?” “That’s what he said just before you threw that last grenade,” commented Private Garcia. “Think he has a sense of humor?” “Come on out with your claws in the air!” shouted Private Camacho. “And your tail, too! Come out real slow. Keep them tails where I can see them.”

  About twenty scorpions filed out of the tunnel. Camacho became alarmed by their numbers. “Stop!” he shouted. ““How many of you critters are there?” “Here?” asked the scorpion commander. “In this tunnel?” “Keep playing dumb, and I’ll shoot you now!” shouted Private Camacho. “Yes, here! Bendaho!”<
br />
  “Oh, about ten thousand,” replied the scorpion commander, approaching the Legion bunker. He handed Private Camacho a sword. “We all surrender to you. My entire command on XYP gives up.”

  “No one else comes out of that hole!” shouted Private Garcia, pointing his assault rifle at the other scorpions. “We need more legionnaires to escort you to the detention center.”

  “Take your time,” commented the scorpion commander. “I have nowhere else to go. We are tired, cold, and hungry. Can we go to McDonald’s? I love your Big Macs with cheese and extra fries.”

  * * * * *

  Major Lopez, the scorpion fleet commander, and I sat in my command center tent. It was stifling hot in the tent because the air conditioning was still out due to lack of power. We tied burlap potato bags over the scorpion’s tail to cover his stinger.

  “What shall we do with you?” asked Major Lopez. “Roast you on a spit and eat you?”

  “Do not threaten me,” replied the scorpion commander. “I know you do not eat your prisoners. It’s against the law. Humanity is a civilized species.”

  “Don’t count on that,” threatened Major Lopez. “This is the frontier.”

  “Major Lopez is right,” I said. “Do not count on our civility. Legionnaires have died because of you. Usually I do not eat prisoners. But, I have eaten spiders. They taste like crab legs, except less filling, and I’ll bet they don’t taste much different from you.”

  “You want something,” said the scorpion commander. “But what? I have nothing to give you.”