Allies

by Walter Knight

“Yes, sir.”

  * * * * *

  Corporals Tonelli and Wayne were placed in charge of Privates Krueger, Camacho, and Garcia for the weekend. They caught a cab to the nearest ‘pub.’ Garcia and Guido met several shady-looking scorpions already waiting, and immediately sat in a corner to talk business, leaving the others at the bar.

  “Wayne is getting some hard mad-dog looks from the scorpions,” observed Private Camacho. “I don’t think they like spiders.”

  “Don’t worry, Wayne,” advised Private Krueger. “We’ll protect you from all these big, bad scorpions.”

  “I do not need protection provided by human pestilence,” snapped Corporal Wayne. “Let just one of these scorpions say anything to me, and see what happens. I’ll cut the first scorpion open and spill his guts on the floor, just for the fun of it. You two stay away from me. I want to drink alone.”

  “Check this out,” whispered Private Krueger to Camacho. Krueger reached into the crotch of his pants and pulled out a grenade. “They didn’t search me good enough. When you have cojones as big as mine, you can smuggle almost anything in your pants.”

  “You’re crazy, man,” replied Camacho. “Speaking of smuggling, what are Guido and Garcia up to?”

  Krueger shrugged. “It could be anything. Guido can make money anywhere. He’s probably already taking bets from the scorpions for the playoffs.”

  A scorpion tapped Camacho on the shoulder. “Care to buy a working girl a drink, legionnaire?” she asked.

  “No way,” said Camacho. “Get away from me, puta.”

  “Wait,” said Krueger. “Do you do table dances?”

  “I’ll do anything you want, you cute little hairball,” answered the scorpion. “If the price is right.”

  “I’m married,” said Krueger, showing her his ring. “But do you see my spider friend sitting all alone at the end of the bar? Do a hot lap-dance for him. He’ll gladly pay.”

  The female scorpion sauntered to the end of the bar and sat on Corporal Wayne’s lap, catching him by surprise. She gave him an embrace and sprayed his face with a green mist. The big legionnaire spider reached for his large jagged combat knife, then slid it back into its sheath. “Can I buy you a drink?” asked Wayne, suddenly feeling the full affect of the pheromones.

  “After I do a little dance just for you,” replied the female scorpion, giving him a kiss.

  “I think they’re in love,” commented Private Krueger, chuckling into his drink.

  “That is so disgusting,” said Camacho. “It’s Spiders and Scorpions Gone Wild. Hey, you two! Get a room!”

  “I can’t even look anymore,” said Krueger, covering his eyes.

  Guido came over to the bar to check on the privates. “Are you two staying out of trouble?” asked Guido. “You had better be.”

  “Si,” said Camacho, nervously.

  “What?” asked Guido.

  “No comprende,” said Camacho.

  Guido glanced over at Corporal Wayne. “What is Wayne doing with that scorpion?”

  “Mating, I think,” replied Krueger. “Want us to break it up?”

  “Are you suicidal? You know how Wayne gets when he’s upset. Stay away from him until they’re finished. I don’t have time to babysit you two. I have more business to conduct with the scorpions. Stay out of trouble – or else!”

  As soon as Guido left, a scorpion sat next to Private Camacho and ordered a drink. He turned to Camacho and asked, “Why are you sitting on my bar stool? Get off my stool now, you sorry excuse for a worm!”

  Private Krueger struck the scorpion on the head from behind with what passed as a beer bottle in this alien pub. The scorpion fell to the floor, dazed, but whipped his tail about, grazing Krueger with his stinger. Camacho hit the scorpion with a chair before he could get back up. Krueger staggered a few steps and fell unconscious, but not before tossing his grenade at the scorpion. The explosion injured several customers and killed the scorpion who had started the fight.

  Alerted by the disturbance, Guido and Garcia came quickly, and dragged the legionnaires outside to the street. They hailed a cab and made their getaway back to the embassy barracks. Along the way, Guido injected Krueger with anti-venom serum the medics provided for just this type of scenario. It probably saved Private Krueger’s life. They lost track of Corporal Wayne. He was AWOL for a week, and was busted back down to private when he finally dragged himself in. Amazingly, no one reported the pub incident to the police. Rough neighborhood, we concluded.

  * * * * *

  Master Sergeant Green came to my office to complain about the CIA agents I locked up. “Those CIA fools are real angry about being thrown in jail,” said Green. “They want to know what they are being charged with.”

  “Stupidity out of season,” I answered, as I tinkered with the nuke on my desk. It beeped as I reconnected a wire. “I can’t remember if it’s the blue wire or the red wire that disarms the nuke when you cut it. Can you remember?”

  “I wish you would stop messing with that thing,” said Sergeant Green. “You are going to attract a visit from the Grim Reaper for sure, if you aren’t careful. He will collect all our souls.”

  “Don’t start with that Grim Reaper nonsense again,” I said, annoyed. “Are you taking your meds?” “Sir, seriously...” Green gave me a hard look that said I was just another stupid officer. “Okay, fine. I’ll stop.” I rolled the nuke to my coat closet and shoved it inside. “Good,” said Sergeant Green, now happy. “As I was saying, CIA SAC Rogers says he is going to tear off your arm and beat you to death with it if you don’t release him immediately.”

  “That’s not good,” I said. “Anything else?”

  “Yes! Rogers trashed his cell and flooded the whole basement by plugging up his toilet before we could figure out how to turn off the water. It smells like a sewer down there. Are you going to do something about Rogers, or what?”

  “I’d thump him, but he’s CIA. Leave them in their own stink and don’t feed him or his buddies for three days. That should calm them down.”

  “I doubt it!” said Sergeant Green, leaving my office, upset again.

  A few minutes later, he was back. “Sir, you have an important visitor.” He backed out of the way, and in walked a giant insect-like creature resembling a praying mantis – or was it preying mantis? I wasn’t sure. In any case, it stood on huge segmented hind legs, with its forward appendages bent and held up in front of it. “Sir,” said Green, “this is a Mantid, a survivor of the Mantidae race.”

  “Are you the human ambassador?” asked the Mantid, wearing a translator strapped around the area joining its thorax and triangular buggy-eyed head.

  By this time, after encountering sentient spiders, beetles, ants, and most recently scorpions, I shouldn’t have been startled by the appearance of yet another bug species. But I was so fascinated and appalled, I nearly missed the Mantid’s plea.

  “I seek political asylum and the protection of your embassy. My species has been cruelly hunted to the brink of extinction by the scorpions. I may be the last of my kind. But, now that you are here, there is hope. I am pregnant. I seek medical care to assist delivery of my egg sacks. With your help and protection, I can give birth to thousands.”

  “Oh, shit.”

  * * * * *

  Scorpion planetary defenses went on full alert as radar detected an unidentified flying object entering orbit. It traveled at fantastic speeds toward the capital. Even as the object entered the atmosphere, it did not slow down its incredible speed. Interceptor fighter aircraft scrambled for visual verification before missiles were launched. They did not want to shoot down a Legion starship.

  The first interceptor closed on what appeared to be an ungodly aberration – a flying skeletal humanoid, cloaked in black flowing robes and carrying a long-handled scythe. It gave the pilot a wide skeletal toothy smile before reaching out with its scythe and grabbing the pilot’s soul. The aircraft abruptly crashed to the planet
’s surface. The Grim Reaper continued his journey, landing on the roof of the new American Embassy. Passing through solid cement, he entered Colonel Czerinski’s office and opened the coat closet. The Grim Reaper picked up the nuke with both hands, embracing it as he cradled it in his bony arms.

  “Yes!” shouted the Grim Reaper. “Now I shall take them all! These legionnaires are way overdue to join me. Tonight, I will finally usher their souls away!”

  A light came on as Master Sergeant Green burst into the office carrying a 50-caliber machine gun. He fired from the hip directly into the back of the Grim Reaper, riddling his cloak with holes. Bone chunks flew everywhere. The Grim Reaper dropped the nuke and fled out a window, into the darkness.

  “I knew you’d be back!” shouted Sergeant Green, laughing wickedly as he fired. “I’m the one gonna take your soul!”

  More legionnaires soon arrived and grabbed Sergeant Green. Sergeant Williams wrestled the machine gun away. Green slumped against a wall, exhausted from the ordeal. “That was a close call,” commented Sergeant Green, softly.

  “What?” asked Sergeant Williams. “Did you say something?” “He got away,” said Sergeant Green. “I think he is sleep walking,” said Sergeant Williams to the others. “We need a medic. Help me get Green back to bed.” “Colonel Czerinski is going to be real pissed off about his office,” commented Private Knight. “I don’t want to be here when he finds out. What a mess!”

  * * * * *

  I sat at a long conference table, flanked by Major Lopez and State Department Officer James Yamashita. Across the table sat His Majesty the King, flanked by his General Staff and various other scorpion aides. I was dead tired from no sleep during the night.

  “You look a bit disheveled,” commented the King. “Were you up partying all night?”

  “One of my men fell ill,” I replied. “I was up all night attending to Sergeant Green before he was evacuated back to New Colorado for further medical evaluation and care.”

  “I too was up all night,” said the King. “We lost one of our interceptor jet fighters to a UFO. Do you know anything of this? The camera images were very disturbing.”

  “No,” I replied. “We had no shuttles in flight, other than the medical ship carrying Sergeant Green.”

  “We will move on to other matters for now,” said the King. “My police chief tells me that dangerous human contraband is being smuggled and sold right here in our capital. Cigarettes of all sorts, for example. Our doctors advise me that cigarettes may cause lung disease and maybe even cancer. I want all cigarettes banned.”

  “Good luck with that,” I said. “We can’t even stop smoking among our own population. How am I going to stop you scorpions from buying cigarettes?”

  “Start by ordering Guido to stop trafficking in cigarettes,” suggested the scorpion captain. “We know he is responsible. If not, I will arrest Guido and take other measures to stop smuggling. We know of your Mafia. We will not tolerate your Italians running amuck in our capital, selling dangerous contraband.”

  “There is no such thing as the Mafia,” I said. “But I will talk to Guido.” “You do that,” added the captain. “You have met Guido?” I asked. “What else do you know?” “The database is very informative about your Italians and the Mafia,” said the captain. “We know all we need to know about this menace.”

  “Whatever,” I said. “Let’s talk about the Mantidae. I intend to extend Legion protection to all Mantidae still alive.”

  “You want our Mantidae?” asked the King. “We have laws against poaching. I recently declared the Mantidae an endangered protected species.”

  “I do not want to hunt Mantidae,” I replied.

  “What will you do with the Mantidae?” asked the King. “Eat them? Good luck with that. They’re very rare and hard to find in the wild.”

  “I intend to resettle the Mantidae to New Colorado,” I explained. “I request you not interfere with their refugee status. They seek and have been granted political asylum.”

  “You found Mantidae?” asked the king, slapping the table with a claw. “And now you are going to go into business raising them? We have been looking everywhere for the little devils. That’s fantastic! I knew we could find common ground on trade issues!”

  “We only found one,” I explained. I did not mention that our Mantid had already been evacuated to New Colorado with Sergeant Green. “But with your help, maybe we can find more.”

  “Oh,” said the King with a deflated sigh. “I had hoped you had found more. How disappointing. They’re such cute little critters.”

  “They feel very abused by the Scorpion Kingdom and wish to flee as far away from you scorpions as possible,” I said. “I agree that is the only viable remedy, too.”

  “Very well,” said the King. “I have no objection. All this talk of food is getting me hungry. We will break early for lunch. I have been assured the buffet today is excellent.”

  “Perhaps during lunch, our aides can start some preliminary discussions on military matters,” suggested a scorpion general. “Topics on the table would be mutual defense pacts, exchange of technology, and future colonial expansion.”

  “That is fine with me,” I said, nodding at Major Lopez.

  “One more thing,” said James Yamashita, finally speaking. “To facilitate financial interaction and banking transactions, the Legion wants to locate an ATM at McDonald’s.”

  “I see no problem with that,” said the King. “Our aides can handle that, too. By the way, I love those Big Macs and chocolate milk shakes.”

  “Wait,” I said. “Some of our ATMs need diagnostic checks run on them. I would not wish our obnoxious ATMs on anyone, especially during first-contact talks.”

  “Our ATMs are not obnoxious,” argued Yamashita. “I’ll handle it. You are out of your element when it comes to financial matters.” “And you sound like a lobbyist,” I accused. “Has someone paid you off?” “That was an irresponsible statement, and I will file a complaint with General Daly,” Yamashita threatened. “Would you like to join our CIA agents in their new apartments?” I asked. “They have lots of room.” “Now is not the time to be discussing our concerns about ATMs,” insisted Yamashita. “I will discuss the matter with you later in private.”

  “If you humans cannot even agree about ATMs among yourselves, perhaps I should study the matter in more detail before I make a decision,” suggested the King. “What is the big deal about installing a few dumb machines?”

  * * * * *

  Sergeant Green woke up in bed, still aboard the Shenandoah. The somber Mantid stared down at him. Sergeant Green bolted upright, momentarily mistaking the Mantid for the Grim Reaper.

  “You are safely aboard the Shenandoah now,” advised the Mantid. “I have been watching over you for hours. Do you want me to fetch a medic?”

  “I don’t need a medic!” replied Sergeant Green. “And don’t be hovering over me. I don’t need no praying mantis hovering over me. I squash mantises with my boot.”

  “Unfortunately the scorpions have the same attitude,” commented the Mantid, backing away.

  “I meant squashing pest-like bugs. I didn’t mean you in particular,” amended the sergeant, suddenly feeling a bit ashamed for his aggressive comment. “I know you Mantidae are a sentient species and have had a hard time of it from the scorpions.”

  “I find the human species very interesting but unusual,” said the Mantid. “I never dreamed beings such as you could exist. You have no exoskeleton for protection, yet your bones seem to support your fragile skin just fine.”

  “We manage.”

  “What happened to you?” asked the Mantid. “Are you sick or injured?”

  “They think I went crazy,” said Sergeant Green. “They gave me a bunch of pills to calm me down. But the truth is, I fought Death and won. I shot the Grim Reaper full of fifty-cal holes!”

  “What does Death look like?” asked the Mantid. “So many of my kind
have met Death.” “Red glowing eyes set in a skeletal face, a toothy grin, black hooded cloak, and carries a long-handled scythe.” “Coming face to face with Death sounds terrifying,” said the Mantid. “I suppose not many have done that and lived.” “You believe me?” asked Sergeant Green. “No one else does.” “I do not think you are crazy,” said the Mantid, wincing in pain. “What’s the matter?” asked Sergeant Green. “Are you sick?” “I am about to give birth. I have been delaying, because it has not been safe, but now the time is right.” “You’re a female?” asked Sergeant Green. “I would never have guessed. The babies are due now?” “Yes,” said the Mantid. “But I need your help. Cut open my birthing sacs. Please. Do it now.” “What? I am not doing a C-section on an oversized praying mantis. Medic! Get in here!” “It has to be you,” insisted the Mantid, grabbing Green by his shirt. “I selected you. I beg of you.” Sergeant Green unsheathed his long jagged combat knife and gave one of the sacs a tentative poke. The Mantid did not seem to notice pain. Green then cut into sac in earnest. Immediately thousands of live, tiny Mantidae swarmed out, covering them both with lively little critters.

  “What are they doing?” yelled Sergeant Green. “They won’t eat me will they? Get them off!”

  “Be careful,” advised the Mantid. “Do not squash them. You did beautifully. My babies are imprinting on us. They will follow us everywhere, until they are able to forage for their own food.”

  “Follow us?” asked Sergeant Green. “You mean like geese? Oh hell no! I’m not going to be no daddy to a swarm of bugs!”

  “They will die without our guidance,” insisted the Mantid. “Please, I cannot bond with them alone. It’s too much.”

  “Damn right, it’s too much,” said Sergeant Green, gently sweeping a baby Mantidae from his shoulder. “I always wanted a large family, but this is ridiculous.”