Heaven’s Gate
by Walter Knight
I drifted swiftly toward the bright light as the intense atomic flash killed me. Finding myself at Heaven’s Pearly Gates was totally unexpected. Clouds parted, and the opulent voice of God blared from above. “Joey R. Czerinski? What in Heaven’s name are you doing here?”
“There must be a bureaucratic foul-up,” I speculated. “I’m as shocked as you, Lord.”
God frowned as he double-checked his list, suspecting another clerical error. Good help was hard to find ever since the Grim Reaper went missing. “What is your middle name?”
“You’re God. I thought you knew everything.” “I created everything. I do not know everything!” “Where are my friends?” I asked, looking about. “Shouldn’t I be greeted by my loved ones?” “You have no loved ones,” replied God. “Most of your legionnaires will be joining you shortly. However, I am still sorting out how you got this far. You might have a guardian angel.”
“Oh? That’s news to me. I’ll tell you what. If I can’t crash this country club, just send me to Arizona. That’s as close to Heaven as I need.”
“Ha! Only a select few Catholics are allowed to sneak across the fence into Arizona.”
“Is Walter Knight in Heaven?” I asked, angrily. “This is all his fault.”
“Walter Knight?” scoffed God, incredulously. “The world-famous science fiction writer? Oh, hell, no. I sent that fool somewhere hot, hot, hot, along with your buddy, Sergeant Tyrone Green.”
“Good riddance to Knight. He was about to write another book. His characters are so unlikable.”
The Gates of Heaven swung open. Out walked Lieutenant Valerie Smith, USMC, wearing crisp combat fatigues and boots. “Welcome aboard, Joey,” greeted Valerie. “Surprised to get to Heaven? There are a lot more old soldiers like you here than most expect. Even Private Hector Camacho made it in.”
“Are you the real Valerie?” I asked, uncertain about our past relationship. “You look good. Do you work out?”
“Shut up.”
“Are there casinos in Heaven?” I continued, giving Valerie a polite hug and kiss as my doubts increased about this nightmare being real.
“No.” “Can I build a casino?” “No. Don’t push your luck.” “How about sex?” “It would not be Heaven without sex,” answered Valerie seductively. “What is your middle name? Inquiring minds still want to know.”
“I can’t believe Sergeant Green isn’t getting in. Green was the best of us.” “I know. There’s a rumor from Finisterra that God is still upset at Tyrone for calling him a cracker.” “No one should hold a grudge that long. That’s messed up.” “I filed a grievance on Tyrone’s behalf,” explained Valerie. “His case is going to binding arbitration. Attorney Depoli arrived just in time to help. We’re so short on lawyers up here. Also, the NAACP is filing a Friend of God brief.”
“They got in?” I clinched my fists as a dark thought crossed my mind “The spiders nuked us. Are there any of those damn spiders in Heaven? There had better not be.” I reflexively reached for my sidearm. Damn! It was missing, but I was comforted that my boot knife remained hidden.
“No honey, you need to set aside your petty Earthly prejudices,” cautioned Valerie, glancing up. God was still frowning, intently checking his list. “Of course there are spiders in Heaven. Even a few scorpions got in somehow. A word of warning: questionable cases like yours have to pass a test.”
“I figured out the problem!” interrupted God. “There are two Joey R. Czerinskis. Who knew? It is Joey Junior that should be joining us today. Not you. Go back!”
“No!” I pleaded, dropping to my knees. “I’ll stay. I’ll take Joey Junior’s place. Please! He is too young to die!”
“You passed. Enter.”
* * * * *
“What a dump,” I commented as Valerie led me to Heaven. “Where’s the latrine? Don’t make me do the pee-pee dance.” “Do not be irreverent,” replied Valerie. “It is a miracle you even got in.” “I’m starving. Is there a McDonald’s?” “No, sweetie.” “That will change, once the rest of the battalion gets here. I’ll see to that. I bet there’s no Taco Bell either.” “Sorry, no.” “Is Guido going to be joining us?” “Yes, soon.” “What about his dragon, Spot?” “No, dear. Bloodthirsty killer monitor dragons are against the rules.” “How about dogs?” “All dogs go to Heaven.” “So this is how it ends? No McDonald’s, no Taco Bell, no KFC, no Walmart, no Teamsters. Tell me those fools aren’t running the place.”
“God runs Heaven. There is no Teamsters closed shop.” “Was that ever put to a vote?” “This is not America. It’s Heaven, inspired by the glory of God. Go with the flow, Joey, or you will get kicked out for heresy.” “Fine, for now.” I looked around the place, then grumbled, “God, why did you create man in Your image, then leave us alone in a universe surrounded by bugs?”
“Adversity builds character,” a voice boomed suddenly, seeming to come from everywhere. “Deal with it.”
###
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Arming Santa
by Walter Knight
General Daly personally inspected the latest air-to-air heat seeking red-tipped ‘Rudolph’ missiles installed on Santa’s sleigh, along with Willy Wonka Vulcan Gatling guns.
We’re going to kick some serious scorpion booty,” said the lead elf with a smirk. “Resistance to Christmas will be futile.”
“Santa is a stubborn old fool,” remarked General Daly, shaking his head. “The Legion would gladly provide escort to the Scorpion Kingdom and back, but will Santa listen? No! As usual, Fat-Boy insists on going solo. At least this extra firepower will help even the odds. He might even survive.”
“Santa believes in a traditional Christmas,” explained the elf. “Magic Dust has always powered the sleigh safely on its appointed rounds.”
“This year the mission is too dangerous,” warned General Daly. “The future of Christmas cannot be left to Magic Dust. Hell, for Christ’s sake, the stuff is invisible. How reliable can it be?”
“Ho, ho, ho!” boomed Santa as he entered the launch bay of the T. Roosevelt Space Weapons Transport Platform, slapping General Daly affectionately on the back. “I appreciate your concern, general, but Rudolph is an experienced, tested, and capable navigator. He has not failed me yet, knock on wood.”
“Rudolph is getting old,” argued General Daly. “And he snorts way too much of that Magic Dust. What the hell is in that stuff, anyway?”
“I’ll take Magic Dust over your technology any day,” scoffed Santa, patting Rudolph affectionately on the snout, examining the reindeer’s glazed eyes. “Stoned again, and it’s not even Christmas. Bad reindeer, no biscuit.”
“Satellite surveillance indicates the scorpions have beefed up their planetary defense systems with stealth fighter interceptors. This will be no milk and cookies run.”
Santa ignored Daly’s paranoid rantings as he assisted the elves hitching the reindeer. Rudolph confidently took the lead, anxiously kicking up his hooves. Daly and the elves donned sunglasses for protection against the red glare.
“If it gets hairy up there, don’t hesitate to use your missiles,” insisted General Daly. “That’s what they’re there for. Fire your Rudolphs right down their damn chimneys!”
“Only presents, peace, and goodwill to all go down the chimneys,” admonished Santa cheerfully. “Ho, ho, ho! How would it look if instead of delivering new Kindles, Nooks, Androids, and iPhones, we blasted little scorpion hatchlings? Bad. Real bad. That’s how.”
“What a load of happy horseshit,” grumbled General Daly. “Peace on you, and your Kindles and Nooks.”
“Peace on me?”
“If you take a hit, press the red button,” whispered General Daly, seriously. “We cannot risk your capture, or the loss of the secret sleigh technology.”
“Red button?”
“It will nuke the scorpion bastards while they sleep. Ha! Should have done that a long time a
go instead of all this namby-pamby meals-on-wheels delivering-presents bullshit. The galaxy would be a safer place this holiday season!”
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~AUTHOR’S NOTE~
I poured my heart out to write the America’s Galactic Foreign Legion series. If you have read all fourteen books, there is now a bond between us. Or a great divide. May we someday meet to exchange a laugh. My hope is that America’s Galactic Foreign Legion comes to a theater near you.
If you roll to the right, consider buying AGFL paperbacks for gifts, or for your personal library. And remember, if in doubt, vote Republican. UK readers, do not vote at all. It only encourages the bastards.
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~SNEAK PEAK PREVIEW~
AMERICA’S GALACTIC FOREIGN LEGION
Book 15: Lieutenant Christopher Columbus
by Walter Knight
Chapter 1
My name is Colonel Joey R. Czerinski, Hero of the Legion, Butcher of New Colorado, Garrison Commander of United States Galactic Federation Foreign Legion troops at the Demilitarized Zone crossroads of New Gobi City, planet of New Colorado. All is good again in the galaxy. I plan to retire soon, living off my many investments.
Today, a young lieutenant stood in front of my desk, saluting, and presenting his orders, fresh from Officer’s Candidate School. “Lieutenant Christoper Columbus?” I commented, chuckling as I scanned his file. “Born October Tenth. Your parents have a sense of humor.”
“My family is long dead, sir,” replied Lieutenant Columbus, stiffening as he gripped the hilt of his sword. “I’ll bet you got into a lot of fights in school.” “At the Academy, jokesters tormented me at their peril!” “What’s with the sword?” I asked, alarmed at Columbus’s temper. “What is your accent? Italian?” “Genoese,” answered Lieutenant Columbus, still agitated. “I am Genoese-American. The Legion authorizes officers to carry a bladed weapon of choice. I choose my ceremonial sword over your puny combat knife any day.”
“You and Corporal Tonelli should get along fine,” I groused, never having heard of Genoese, but knowing enough Italians to recognize another wise guy.
“Never bring a sword to a gun fight,” interrupted Major Manny Lopez, my second in command. Lopez had been standing to the side, unnoticed until now. “It could be unhealthy. You carry a sword because you fancy yourself a conquistador, like the real Columbus?”
“You!” exclaimed Lieutenant Columbus. “We have met!”
“Not likely,” scoffed Major Lopez. “I was briefed before your arrival. You graduated last in your class, with a reputation for brawling. Welcome to the New Gobi Desert. Everything here bites, pokes, or stings. You should fit in well.”
“Thank you, fellow conquistador,” replied Lieutenant Columbus, his mood much improved as he shook hands. “I assure you, sirs, I am fully competent with all Legion weapons. My sword is for show. I feel naked without it.”
“We are glad to have you,” I said. “You arrived just in time. Tonight the battalion deploys to New Jellystone National Park. Scorpion bandits are poaching buffalo again. Ever since the scorpions found out Smokey the Bear isn’t real, their poaching is out of control. The Legion will put an end to that, once and for all.”
“It is a cruel twist of fate that I am assigned to this vast ocean of desert. Like pirates, those scorpion savages cannot hide forever and will face the rope and my sword. Colonel Czerinski, your Butcher of New Colorado reputation precedes you, and I am proud to serve under your command.”
“I get a lot of bad press.”
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Chapter 2
Major Lopez and Lieutenant Columbus rode lazily at the head of the column atop the turret of an armored car. The night air was refreshing. Columbus stared up at the unfamiliar constellations, then checked his GPS. “We approach Scorpion Valley, population ten thousand,” announced Lieutenant Columbus. “But I see no lights.”
“The scorpions live mostly underground,” advised Major Lopez. “They believe it is wrong to disturb the desert ecosystem with surface structures.”
“The desert is like an ocean, with its life underground,” commented Lieutenant Columbus.
“And a perfect disguise above,” agreed Major Lopez, humming a tune from antiquity.
“In the desert, you can’t remember your name,” added Lieutenant Columbus, thoughtfully. “Because there is no one to give you pain.”
“Stop!” interrupted the driver, Private Knight. “There are copyright laws at play. Have you no ethics?” “That Knight is an odd duck,” groused Major Lopez. “Always has been. Too many concussions from IEDs.” “You don’t remember our first meeting?” asked Lieutenant Columbus, ignoring Knight. “You were a general.” “I got busted,” explained Major Lopez. “Politics rears its ugly head again. We have never met. I would have remembered a name like Christopher Columbus.”
“You wore five stars on your collar, and you sailed the winds of time.” “Five stars, eh? That’s a good one!” “You promoted yourself. It was faster that way.” “You watch your mouth,” warned Major Lopez, grabbing Columbus by the front of his shirt. “I don’t know what you are about, but you are an odd duck, just like that fool, Knight.
“I seek gold so I can buy the Fountain of Youth,” replied Lieutenant Columbus, brushing Lopez back. “I will know the secret of your youth.”
“You want to live forever?” “That is my goal,” boasted Lieutenant Columbus. “So far, so good.” “Another dreamer,” scoffed Major Lopez. “You’ll fit into the Legion just fine. Don’t let the New Gobi kill you first.”
* * * * *
At a crossroads stood the bright golden arches of McDonald’s, and a Texaco gas station. As vehicles lined up for fuel, legionnaires automatically dispersed to secure a perimeter. Lopez and Columbus pulled alongside the drive-up window of McDonald’s, first in line.
“Welcome to Scorpion Valley McDonald’s,” greeted a cheerful young scorpion clerk. “May I take your order, sir?” “Where is everyone?” asked Lieutenant Columbus, only seeing desert about them. “Did they flee?” “Asleep, I guess. Graveyard shift is like that.” “The scorpions live below the surface,” reminded Major Lopez. “A city lies all about us, with its life underground, and a perfect disguise above.”
“Stop!” warned Private Knight, again. “I’ll have a Double Quarter Pounder with American cheese, and a large chocolate shake.”
“You can eat MREs, fool,” advised Major Lopez, dismissing the always hungry Knight. “We are searching for buffalo poachers,” he advised the clerk. “What do you know of poachers?”
“I haven’t seen no stinking poachers,” answered the young scorpion. “You don’t look like Smokey the Bear’s forest rangers. Where are your badges?”
“Don’t say it!” implored Private Knight, again. “Badges?” asked Major Lopez. “We’re the Legion. We don’t need no stinking badges!” “Are you going to order or not?” “Fine,” replied Major Lopez, scanning the lighted menu. “I’ll have the Big N’ Tasty Buffalo Burger with cheese, and curly fries.” “Change my order to three Buffalo Chipotle BBQ Bacon Snack Wraps!” shouted Private Knight, still listening from the driver’s compartment below. “And you had better not spit in my food like you did last time, because I’ll be checking!”
“You sir?” asked the scorpion clerk, motioning to Lieutenant Columbus.
“I am not much hungry. I will have a Venti, three-pump raspberry, three-pump white chocolate mocha, iced soy, no whip, light ice, and an order of fries. I am lactose intolerant. Are you sure you have not seen any buffalo poachers? Who supplies your meat?”
“Sir, we do not serve Venti. You need to go to Starbucks. It is down the road.”
* * * * *
After dinner and the posting of perimeter guards for the night, Lieutenant Columbus slipped out of camp for privacy and to study his GPS. There was gold in the surrounding hills, and Columbus aimed to seek his fortune. The last guard postin
g was Private Shaky Jake, a spider legionnaire. Columbus had already checked his file. “Private, you used to be a prospector?”
“I still am,” replied Shaky Jake, suspicious of all officers, especially human. “What is it to you, sir?”
“Are you familiar with the Lost Bob Woodard Mine?” asked Lieutenant Columbus conversationally. “It is supposed to be located in these hills.”
“Everyone knows the story of the Lost Woodard Mine. Shops sell treasure maps for the mine to tourists.”
“But you prospected in these parts,” insisted Lieutenant Columbus. “Ever find any trace of gold?”
“No one has ever found gold in these hills. Legend has it that Old Bob came to town, spouting off about striking the mother lode, but the locals ate him. Old Bob never filed a claim in Scorpion City, so his sad story ends there.”
“You have searched for Bob’s mine. I know you have. You believe it is out there, waiting to be discovered.”
“How do you know my business? You only just got here, and I don’t like being spied on. You know nothing of the New Gobi Desert or the Lost Woodard Mine.”
“I know its approximate location, to the right of Clinton Summit, by Monica Lake,” advised Lieutenant Columbus, patting his GPS. “But I need a native guide to get me through the bush.”
“Those hills are haunted by the ghost of Old Bob,” whispered Shaky Jake. “Many a fortune hunter has not returned, feared eaten by a vengeful Old Bob. Late at night you can see Bob’s campfire and hear the screams of his victims.”
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