America's Galactic Foreign Legion - Book 2: Reenlistment

by Walter Knight

  At about midnight Spot began a long guttural growl. “Great. That’s probably Lieutenant Lopez or Sergeant Green sneaking up on me to see if I am sleeping. If it’s Czerinski, we are going to have words.” Guido quickly put on his boots and looked out the windows. He could see nothing. Guido wiped the moisture off the window and peered out again. Still nothing. He could see all the way to the tree line, but there was no sign of Lieutenant Lopez or Sergeant Green. Guido put on the night vision goggles he’d been issued. This time the batteries had juice in them and the goggles worked. At first the reflection off the snow made it too bright. But after adjustments, Guido could see movement at the tree line. It was spiders. Lots of spiders! Guido climbed up into the turret and fired the machine gun. When the spiders dispersed and ducked for cover, Guido fired the cannon.

  * * * * *

  At the sound of gunfire, we all crawled out the sides of our tent and into the snow drifts. I ran for cover beside a fallen log. I could see several spiders behind another log firing at the armored car and preparing to fire and anti-tank missile. I threw a grenade. The grenade hit the front of the log and bounced harmlessly before exploding. I threw another grenade that hit on top of the log and bounced over and past the spiders before exploding. The spiders were now shooting at me. I threw a third grenade with more elevation. It dropped behind the log perfectly.

  * * * * *

  Team Leader #4 could see the human officer tossing grenades, but could do nothing about it. The grenades came in quick succession. When the third grenade landed among them, #4 did not hesitate. He ripped off his helmet and threw himself on the grenade. #4 closed his eyes and embraced death.

  But nothing happened. There was no explosion. He was still alive. #4 carefully removed the helmet from the grenade. After surviving what appeared to be a dud, it would not do to accidently set the grenade off by jarring it. His fellow marines had stopped shooting and just stared.

  The grenade appeared very shiny. How odd. How beautiful. #4 picked it up for a closer look. The object was a fist sized gold nugget. #4 glanced over the log at the human officer. He was about to throw another grenade.

  “Stop!” called out #4. “Who threw that last grenade? Who threw the dud?”

  “I did,” I yelled back. “What’s it to you?”

  “How about throwing another one just like it,” said #4.

  “Are you crazy?” I asked, as I tossed another grenade. This one exploded short of the log. My shoulder was getting sore. It felt like I tore something.

  “Stop throwing grenades at me,” said #4. “I do not want to fight any more.”

  “You surrender?” I asked.

  “No, of course not,” said #4. “Why would I surrender? We have you outnumbered.”

  “But we have a cannon and machine gun mounted on an armored car,” I said. “You can’t fight off an armored car if we charge you.”

  “We have armor-piercing rockets,” said #4. “No matter. I do not want to fight any more.”

  “Why?” I asked. “We are at war. We have to fight. It’s against the rules not to fight.”

  “The war ended a long time ago. Besides, I had an epiphany,” said #4. “I look at things differently now.”

  I rapped on the translation device inside my helmet. I didn’t think my translator could understand a word like ‘epiphany.’ I am not sure I even understood its meaning. “You will have to explain yourself better than that!” I demanded.

  “I told you. I quit,” said #4. “All I want to do is float down the river back to civilization.”

  “And rejoin the insurgency?” I asked. “No! You made your choice to join the insurgency and you can die with it.”

  #4 stood up and walked toward me. “I am not a member of the insurgency. I am Team Leader #4 of the Arthropodan Special Forces marines. I wish to immigrate to New Colorado and become a United States Galactic Federation citizen.”

  I left the cover of my log and met #4 halfway. Clearly this spider was wearing an Arthropodan marine uniform. “You are a long way from home,” I said. “What was your mission?”

  “Pure adventurism,” said #4. “But it is over. Let us pass, and I promise not to take up arms against the Legion ever again.”

  Lieutenant Lopez walked up to us. “What is the catch, mocoso? What are you getting out of this? What aren’t you telling us? Don’t be telling me any more lies about you just wanting to quit. I will shoot you now if you lie again.”

  #4 held out the large gold nugget. “I am sure there are more of these here at Finisterra,” said #4. “Gold glitters everywhere here. I want to stay and look for more.”

  Lieutenant Lopez reached for the gold nugget, but #4 pulled back and put the nugget in a pouch. “Where did you get that?” asked Lieutenant Lopez.

  “Your captain threw it at me moments ago, thinking it was a grenade,” said #4.

  Lieutenant Lopez gave me a shove. “You held back on me? Where did you find gold? And when were you planning to tell me about it?”

  “I found it here,” I said. “I was going to tell you about it as soon as my application to purchase Finisterra was approved. You are still my partner.”

  “Partners don’t hold back like that,” said Lieutenant Lopez.

  “The best way to keep a secret is to not tell anyone,” I said. “I was going to tell you after I obtained the deed to Finisterra.”

  “So what is it going to be?” asked #4. “When the secret gets out, there is going to be a gold rush up here. I say we stake our claims now while we can. My war with you is over.” #4 held his claw out to shake.

  “Agreed,” I said, shaking claw. “You may pass. Build a boat and stake any claim you want across the river. Finisterra is ours.”

  * * * * *

  Team Leader #4 and his unit built rafts and crossed the river. They buried five dead. All the Special Forces soldiers already had civilian clothes in their backpacks. They shed their uniforms and began panning for gold. Almost immediately gold was found on their side of the river. #4 left ten soldiers at camp and took four others on a raft down the New Mississippi River. After several days they reached the large city of New Memphis.

  #4 chipped off a little bit of the nugget and converted it to cash. They found lodging at a hotel, bought supplies, and secured boat passage for the return trip north. As they walked through the business district, #4 saw a sign: Anthony Depoli, Attorney at Law. He shrugged, walked inside, and faced real danger. Lawyers can be pretty scary.

  <> <> <> <>

  CHAPTER 9

  “This is Phil Coen, World News Tonight, with breaking news from the Northern Territory of New Colorado,” announced Coen, as he held a microphone up to a spider civilian. “Sir, tell our viewers your name.”

  “My name is General Electric,” replied Team Leader #4, trying to look casual in his civilian clothes. “I just arrived in New Memphis.”

  “That is an interesting name,” said Coen. “Is General Electric your legal name?”

  “My lawyer says yes. I saw the name on a light bulb, and took a liking to it,” said G.E. “What? You don’t like my name?”

  “Mr. Electric, I love your name,” said Coen. “Your attorney says you have a story to tell us from the North. Tell us of your discovery.”

  “I found gold in Finisterra. I tried to stake a claim, but was attacked by the Legion. Many of my crew were killed. Their bodies still lie in the snow. I was lucky to get out alive by floating down the river on a log raft.”

  “That is a very disturbing allegation. I know the Legion just fought a very savage battle in the North with insurgents. What were you doing up there?”

  “I told you. I was prospecting for gold. But the Legion shoots spiders on sight. To them we are all insurgents.”

  “Are you calling this a case of mistaken identity?” asked Coen, doubtfully. “It is unlikely the Legion shoots for no reason.”

  “It is a case of extermination everywhere in the North,” said G.E. “Did
the Legion take prisoners at the North Highway Battle? I don’t think so. I am seeing a pattern.”

  “I was at the North Highway Battle,” advised Coen. “It was a vicious battle fought under harsh conditions. Many lives were lost on both sides.”

  “Whatever. I am just a simple miner trying to make a living like so many others,” said G.E. “The Legion jumped my mining claim when I discovered gold at Finisterra.”

  “Do you have proof?” asked Coen. “For all I know you are an insurgent or an enemy sympathizer. Why were up there in a combat zone?”

  “I told you. I was prospecting,” insisted G.E. “How can I prove anything? Finisterra is a long way from the site of the North Highway Battle. You can go to Finisterra. The Legion is still there. So is my dead crew.”

  “The Legion says they are building a bridge at Finisterra so that the North can be opened up for development,” said Coen. “Their presence is necessary to protect engineers from insurgents.”

  “Insurgents?” asked G.E. “There are no more insurgents left in the North. There are no more spiders left at all. The Legion just stole my claim because I discovered gold.”

  “That is the most outlandish claim I have ever heard,” scoffed Coen. “I have had about enough of this garbage from you. There has never been any gold found in the North. I apologize to viewers for allowing this insult of our heroic legionnaires to broadcast as long as it did.”

  “No gold in the North? What do you think this is?” asked G.E., holding out the large gold nugget. The TV camera zoomed in on the nugget. It glittered in the sunlight. “I got this gold in Finisterra. If you don’t believe me, my attorney has a few words to say.”

  A man dressed in an expensive suit stepped forward. “I am Anthony Depoli, Attorney at Law. I represent Mr. Electric. I went to the County Clerk to file a mining claim on behalf of my client. What I found was that Captain Joey R. Czerinski of the United States Galactic Foreign Legion had already filed a gold mining claim for Finisterra. Captain Czerinski had also applied to purchase the entire Finisterra riverbank. This is the same Captain Czerinski that is known to the spider community as the Butcher of New Colorado. I have filed and obtained a court-ordered temporary injunction blocking this sale to Captain Czerinski pending litigation. I have filed our own mining claim for Finisterra. I also intend to pursue a lawsuit in Federal Court for unspecified damages against the Legion and Captain Czerinski, alleging wrongful death, assault, abuse of authority under the color of the law, claim jumping, and banditry.”

  * * * * *

  The old prospector spider pulled his donkey Shaky Jake through the snow at the North Highway battlefield. He looted the bodies of over two hundred insurgents. It was a good day. Many of the insurgents carried their life savings on them. There was lots of jewelry, too. The prospector also salvaged boots and personal clothing. There were not as many heavy coats and hats as he expected. City slickers have no common sense, he thought.

  The prospector hauled his booty to a large tent he had set up by the highway. He watched all the cars pass by. This much traffic during the middle of winter was crazy. Fools. Don’t they know another storm would kill many of them? The prospector cooked some venison steaks. A carload of human pestilence stopped and talked of a gold rush in Finisterra. He sold them steaks at forty dollars a piece. Another carload stopped. The prospector upped the price to fifty dollars, and they bought them all. When the human pestilence left, the prospector put up a sign: Welcome to BATTLE CREEK CAFÉ, STORE, & HOTEL.

  A carload of young spider females stopped. They were giggling and having lots of fun. “Hello, old timer,” said Pam. “Are we there yet?”

  “That depends,” said the prospector. “If you are going to Finisterra, it is another five hundred miles up the road. It’s a rough road, and that old car of yours will never make it through the next storm.”

  “This is some hotel you have here,” said Pam, carefully looking the place over. The donkey poked its head out of the tent. “It is nothing but a big tent.”

  “It is warm even during an Arctic storm,” said the prospector. “I am putting up another tent soon. Would you like to spend the night with me?”

  “Why, you old dragon slayer, you.” Pam giggled. “Did you just proposition me?”

  “I am too old to proposition anyone,” said the prospector. “You would kill me in the sack. I just wanted to know if you would like a warm place to stay tonight.”

  “You are not that old,” said Pam, eyeing him speculatively. She yelled to her sisters in the car, “Hey Fran! This old fart is kind of feisty.”

  “He is a sweetie,” said Fran, getting out of the car. “I smell food cooking. Can we eat here? I have to pee!”

  “Do you have money?” asked the prospector. “This is a business.”

  “If we had money we would not be going to Finisterra with everything we own piled on top of the car,” said Pam. “Would you take an I.O.U?”

  “How about we do a trade?” asked Fran, giving the prospector a caress on his mandibles. Pam put a claw around his waist. The three entered the hotel together to check in.

  “I told you I am too old for pushy females,” said the prospector. “My exoskeleton is too brittle.”

  “Nonsense,” said Pam. “You are never too old. I’ll be gentle.”

  “I won’t,” said Fran.

  After negotiating all night, Pam, Fran, Sam, Bam, Jan, and the prospector became business partners. The donkey was no longer allowed to stay in the main tent. And the prospector changed his sign to: BATTLE CREEK CAFÉ, STORE, HOTEL, AND BROTHEL. NEXT STOP / FEMALES 500 MILES.

  * * * * *

  The population of Finisterra swelled to fifteen thousand in two weeks as more and more boats and vehicles arrived. Trees were chopped down and tents put up. A lumber mill started manufacturing boards. Humans and spiders worked side by side. Drunkenness and gunfights were common. Surprisingly, the first large structure built was a church. The building was also used as a community center and tavern during the week. Legion engineers finally started work on the bridge. Work had been delayed when more gold was discovered where the bridge foundation was being excavated. Also, I put the engineers to work building public restrooms and large longhouses for all the transient workers and miners. Anyone staying at a longhouse was required to shovel snow for his rent. Because I had been the Mayor of Disneyland for a short time, everyone assumed I was in charge here, too. I presided over weekly civic meetings at the community center.

  “You are the only law enforcement in Finisterra,” complained a new grocery store owner. “I expect regular Legion patrols. I have to put up shutters because my windows keep being shot out.”

  “I am not a cop,” I replied. “I don’t particularly like cops, and I don’t want to be one.”

  “Few here do,” advised the spider grocer. “The fact that you don’t want the job probably makes you the best qualified. There is a need for police in a wild frontier town like this. Otherwise, bodies start piling up.”

  “I refuse to be your police chief,” I said. “Does anyone here want the job?” No one answered.

  “We could solicit donations in gold to make the job more attractive,” said the preacher. “Then we could hire a town marshal.”

  That idea got voted down as the crowd chanted, “No taxes, no taxes, read my lips, no taxes!”

  “Because everyone is too cheap to hire a sheriff and no one wants to be sheriff, everyone is going to have to be more civic minded than usual,” I announced. “Our first new law will be to make it mandatory for everyone to carry a firearm. Permission is granted for anyone who sees a serious crime committed in their presence to shoot the culprit on sight and dump him into the river.”

  Our first law got loud unanimous approval. One spider asked if we had just legalized lynching, but he was shouted down. There’s always a malcontent in every crowd.

  “What about garbage collection?” asked a human miner.

  “That problem again,” I said, remembering the D
isneyland garbage problems. “Does anyone want that job? No? I didn’t think so. Just throw all the garbage into the river.”

  “What about whorehouses?” someone asked. “The nearest whorehouse is five hundred miles away in Battle Creek.”

  “I’ll have the engineers build a fine whorehouse right next to this building,” I said. “We will let the girls stay there rent free. I need a volunteer to go to Battle Creek to see if the owners of that whorehouse can be coaxed into moving their operations up here. I’ll provide Legion trucks to move them.”

  After that matter passed unanimously, I had no problem finding a volunteer. I also suggested we should open a casino next to the whorehouse.

  “We need paved roads,” said a spider miner. “When the snow melts, the streets will turn into four-foot deep mud.”

  “I will have the engineers pave Main Street to where it connects to the bridge,” I said.

  “I heard there is a lawyer’s office about to open,” said a human spectator way in the back.

  “Someone get a rope,” I said, to a chorus of cheers.

  “You are the Butcher of New Colorado,” accused a large spider in the front row. “How can the spider community trust you?”

  “Because it is still legal for you to carry your assault rifle. The Legion is only confiscating machine guns, RPGs, and surface to air missiles,” I said. “Firearms are the teeth of liberty. If you don’t trust me, trust Smith & Wesson. Any more stupid questions?” I looked around. Nothing. “Good. Someone open the tavern.”