I turned away from the wrecker driver. “Private Washington! See if the armored car will still start. Williams, Kool, check out the cannon and the machine gun. Load this beast up. We are going over the Bridge in five minutes to kick some terrorist butt.”
* * * * *
Ralph Gobind Singh always knew he might be a target someday. It was a risk successful people had to live with. As a precaution, Singh built a fortress home, traveled in a convoy, hired security guards and body guards, and embedded a GPS tracking chip into his thigh. Even though Singh was blindfolded, bound with rope, and being transported in the trunk of a Chevy, he had faith that his foresight would pay off and that he would be rescued. All the Legion has to do is follow the GPS signal right to my ass, he thought. It should be simple, even for them.
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CHAPTER 12
A convoy arrived from New Disneyland with more immigrants and gold seekers. They were escorted by a company of the Waterstone National Guard. The Green spider troops were here to stay. The working girls at Battle Creek decided to relocate to Finesterra, moving into the brothel already built next to City Hall. Also, all the activities that used to take place at City Hall were moved next door, too. Governmental, tavern, and community center functions shared the building easily enough, but there were arguments about church services on Sunday. No one wanted to close the brothel for even one day a week. So, the parishioners were encouraged to sing louder during services to drown out the sound of brothel activities.
* * * * *
The armored car was a formidable war machine when used correctly. When we crossed the Finisterra Bridge searching for Singh, images from two airborne drones appeared on the armored car’s computer monitor. These drones could guide missiles fired down from the T. Roosevelt and from helicopter gun ships. A tank column led by Lieutenant Lopez was also tied into the network. Our plan was to lure the insurgents into attacking the lone armored car, then flank them with tanks. Missiles and bombs would rain down on the insurgents from above once they were located. I followed Singh’s GPS tracking signal into East Finisterra. We took an indirect route so that the insurgents would not suspect that we were tracking them.
* * * * *
From the rooftop of the East Finisterra Hotel, General Electric watched the Legion armored car slowly drive along a side street. The owner of the hotel allowed the insurgency to use the hotel as a safe haven. He thought it would be good for business. G.E. could hear that irritating noise again. This time he immediately knew what the humming sound was. G.E. looked up. He could not see the drone, but he knew it was there. G.E. radioed to the Emperor of the North, who was on the other side of the hotel.
“It’s a trap,” G.E. warned. “They have a drone in the air. Get in your holes now!”
“I can see the armored car turning toward us,” said the Emperor of the North. “If they get a little closer, I can get a clear shot.”
G.E. jumped down a vent to the ground floor and then went underground. G.E. would decide the place and time to fight, not the Legion. He radioed for Singh to be moved out of the hotel and underground, too.
* * * * *
I watched the TV images of insurgents running about on the roof of the East Finisterra Hotel. They seemed panicked, but several stayed put and were aiming RPGs. I radioed for the T. Roosevelt to hit the hotel. Minutes later the entire four-story building exploded.
“What is going on up there?” radioed Lieutenant Lopez. He had been monitoring the video images from his tank. “Next time you call in an air strike, have them use smaller bombs. We just shattered every window in East Finisterra.”
“Oops,” I replied. “I think we killed some insurgents. I’m not getting Singh’s signal anymore.”
“Duh,” said Lieutenant Lopez. “You probably killed him. If Singh really did write us into his will, I think we just collected.”
“There is no proof we killed anyone yet. But it looks like we need a new hotel,” I said, as the armored car stopped in front of the rubble. Ten legionnaires stormed out of the armored car to secure a perimeter and to search through the debris. All they found was a few dead spiders, some weapons, and a lot of broken bottles from the bar. Then we picked up Singh’s signal and moved out. We followed the signal down to the river before it faded again. “Follow us to the river.”
“They don’t make these streets wide enough,” replied Lieutenant Lopez. “I keep crunching parked cars. Man, these tanks are a blast to drive.”
“Try to limit collateral damage,” I suggested. “I think we are going to get some complaints about the hotel. Hurry up. On the video I’m seeing activity down by the river.”
“I’m seeing it too,” said Lieutenant Lopez, watching the computer monitor. “I see at least one spider carrying a rifle. They are about to cross the river in a small speed boat.”
Lieutenant Lopez launched one missile, guiding it to the target with the help of the drone-mounted camera. The missile scored a direct hit, killing the insurgents and destroying the boat.
“I see more activity on Main Street,” I reported. “It looks like a spider carrying a white flag.”
“I say it’s a trick,” replied Lieutenant Lopez. “Curfew just started. Everyone but insurgents should be off the streets.”
“He has a white flag,” I said. “We will see what he has to say before we shoot him.”
“Shoot him if he gets too close,” warned Lieutenant Lopez. “Those armor piercing grenades they’re tossing around are nasty.”
I watched the spider approach the armored car. I called out on the loud speaker for him to halt, then fired a round into the air.
“Hey in there,” called the spider. “Can we talk?”
I raised myself up from the gun turret. “What could you possibly want to talk about?” I asked. “Don’t you know it’s past curfew? Go home before you get killed.”
“I think you got most of the bad guys already,” said the spider. “The reason I came out to talk to you is that you blew up the East Finisterra Hotel and Bar.”
“Are you the owner?” I asked. “If you want to file a claim for damages you can do it at City Hall when it gets rebuilt.”
“No way I’m the owner,” said the spider. “I am the owner of the Only Tavern and Hotel on the other side of town. The East Finisterra Hotel was my competition.”
“Why are we having this conversation?” I asked. “Get to the point before I decide to run you over.”
“If you soldier boys are through shooting up the town and chasing insurgents for the day, your whole company is cordially invited to free drinks at the Only Tavern to help celebrate the destruction of the East Finisterra Hotel and Bar. I hated that place. I curse the ground it once stood on.”
“You are kidding,” I said. “That is wrong on so many levels.”
“Did I hear someone say free drinks at the Only Tavern?” asked Lieutenant Lopez as his tank column sped past.
“Are the chopper pilots invited, too?” I asked.
“The more the merrier,” said the spider. “There is a landing pad on my new roof.”
I followed the tank’s dust to the Only Tavern. This time we didn’t park in the handicapped zone. The parking lot was full of pickup trucks with military assault rifles displayed in the back window gun racks. Rough neighborhood. I walked up to the bar and ordered a pitcher of beer. Lieutenant Lopez was already seated at the bar, chugging a bottle of vodka. A big green spider spilled his beer when I sat down beside him.
“There goes the neighborhood,” said G.E. “The last legionnaire officer to come in here got thrown out through the front window.”
“That was Lieutenant Lopez,” I said. “Lopez is a lot smaller than I am. And you aren’t big enough to throw me anywhere. Bug.”
“You think so?” asked G.E., getting off his stool and facing me. “You think your excrement don’t stink?”
“Don’t let fear or common sense hold you back,” I replied, now st
anding.
“You may not recognize me,” said G.E. “But I guarantee you will never forget what I am about to do to you and the rest of you human pestilence.”
As G.E. reached out to grab me, Lieutenant Lopez struck him over the head with a vodka bottle. G.E. dropped like a sack of potatoes. Two spiders picked Lieutenant Lopez up over their heads and threw him through the front window. Again. I hit one of the spiders in the face with my beer pitcher. The other spider shoved me into a table full of poker players, scattering chips and money everywhere. The poker players, spider and human, threw us both through the front window. I landed on top of Lieutenant Lopez.
Sergeant Green radioed the situation in for help just as the entire tavern erupted into a bar fight. One of the helicopter gunships, as it was preparing to land, received the call and fired a smoke flare through the front window. Tavern patrons spilled out into the street, coughing but still fighting.
A single spider police officer drove up, blue and red lights a flashing. “The party is over,” said a big old spider sheriff wearing a cowboy hat. “Everyone either go home or go to jail.”
“I’m not going anywhere,” I said “We are the Legion. I’ve dealt with you spider cops before.”
“You will leave or you will be in a whole heap of trouble, boy,” said the spider sheriff. “Do it. Do it now!”
I took a step forward, then hesitated. I looked at the sheriff’s badge. It had lights on it blinking on and off. It gave me a headache. Lieutenant Lopez got up off the ground and staggered over to us. The crowd quieted.
“You need help?” slurred Lieutenant Lopez. “I think we can take him.”
“I don’t need help,” I said. “But that cop is blinking on and off. Make him stop.”
“I think you’re concussed again,” said Lieutenant Lopez. “Our tavern across the Bridge is still open. Let’s go.”
“You heard the man!” yelled Sergeant Green. “Free drinks across the bridge at the new City Hall. Captain Czerinski is buying!”
“There are no freebees next door at the whorehouse, though,” added Lieutenant Lopez, grabbing me and pulling me to the armored car.
Spiders and humans loaded into and on top of the armored car, tanks, pickup trucks, and helicopter, and raced across the bridge. Surprised legionnaires jumped out of the way as the convoy smashed the barrier at the bridge checkpoint. At City Hall, construction was only half completed, but the bar was up and running, and drunks lined up for their free drinks. The whole party was put on my card, taxing my line of credit even more than I thought possible. Oh well. Only poor people die rich.
The hunt for Ralph Gobind Singh resumed at about noon the next day.
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CHAPTER 13
East Finisterra High School and West Finisterra High School football teams were meeting in the first annual Gold Nugget Bowl at the spiders’ home field stadium in East Finisterra. The mostly spider players of East Finisterra were faster and quicker than the mostly human West Finisterra team. The West Finisterra players were larger, and almost always ran the ball. The Diggers, also known as The Pestilence, were undefeated. Just coming off impressive victories over the New Disneyland Rats and the New Memphis Gamblers, the West Finisterra Diggers were up for the game that would make their year, no matter what happened during the rest of the schedule.
The stadium was packed. Fans occasionally fired assault rifles during pregame celebrations. Someone fired off a flare that drifted slowly to the forty-yard line by parachute. I watched from atop the turret of my armored car parked just past the end zone. An ambulance aid car was parked next to me. A truce had been arranged with the insurgency for the game. The Legion agreed not to arrest anyone during the game, not to call in any air strikes, not to shoot anyone, not to man roadblocks around the stadium, and not to bring tanks anywhere in East Finisterra until after the game crowds had left. The Insurgency agreed not to set any bombs, not to kidnap anyone, not to shoot legionnaires, not to shoot at the helicopter, not to kill Ralph Singh, and not to shoot any of the referees while the game was in progress. Also, we had to allow the game to be broadcast on cable TV as well as satellite TV.
I scanned the crowd with my scope. Both sides seemed equally well armed. The East Finisterra cheerleaders looked hideous. I spotted Pam and her sisters working the crowd. The owner of the Only Tavern had beer kegs lined up to make sure no one got thirsty. On the referee’s signal, I fired the armored car’s cannon to begin the first half.
East Finisterra scored first on a hook and ladder trick play. West Finisterra came back running the straight T formation right down the field for a score. Trouble began when the spider quarterback got knocked down by a late hit, and the referee didn’t call it. Then a spider receiver was knocked down before the ball got to him, but still no call. The foul was replayed over and over on the big screen, but it was too late to call the obvious foul. Upset fans rushed out onto the field and jostled the referee. I drove the armored car out on to the field and fired off some machine gun rounds to make fans on both sides back off. The spider sheriff and some deputies also were out on the field. I ordered fans off the field, but no one budged. Finally the sheriff arrested the referee. A deputy cuffed the ref and put him into the back of a patrol car for transport to the county jail. That seemed to make most fans happy, and play resumed. The score was 30-28 West Finisterra at halftime.
Tonight was Homecoming for East Finisterra. The queen and princesses lined up and waved to the fans. They were driven around the track in the bed of pickup trucks. The royalty looked lovely as they hissed and beckoned to their adoring fans.
The second half was as exciting as the first, with the game being decided on the last play. West Finisterra scored, making the count 47-46 East Finisterra. The Diggers didn’t have a field goal kicker, so once again they had to go for the two-point conversion. West Finisterra ran a power sweep over the right side. As the ball carrier made his cut, the muddy turf gave way, causing the ball carrier to lose his footing and slide to the ground just short of the goal line. East Finisterra won. Spider fans rushed out on to the field. Players shook hands and claws, and promised to be ready for a showdown next year. There was also some talk about the upcoming basketball season. Then everyone went home. No one even got killed. That would change soon.
* * * * *
“What shall we blow up today?” asked General Electric. “A terrorist’s work is never done.”
“I think we can best hurt the human pestilence by hitting economic targets,” answered the Emperor of the North. “Today we hit that new Kentucky Fried Chicken restaurant they just built on Main Street.”
“No way,” said G.E. “That is my favorite restaurant. I say we should bomb Taco Bell.”
“No,” said the Emperor of the North. “My girlfriend likes Taco Bell. We went on our first date at Taco Bell. She would be upset if I bombed Taco Bell. I would get the silent treatment all week.”
“What about MacDonald’s?” asked G.E. “I heard they have been diluting their hamburger with oatmeal and soy beans to save on the cost of their Big Macs. MacDonald’s Corporation deserves to be bombed.”
“The problem with MacDonald’s is they are open 24 hours, so we can’t bomb the place after hours,” said the Emperor of the North. “Most of the employees are spiders. Some of them are even on the football team, and I don’t want to risk killing any players when we have a chance to get into the playoffs. Did you see that game yesterday?”
“I did. That was a great game,” said G.E. “We stuffed the human pestilence good. That goal line stand at the end of the game was one for the history books.”
“If we call in a bomb threat on the phone, they can evacuate MacDonald’s, and no one gets hurt,” suggested the Emperor of the North. “What do you think?”
“I think it’s too risky,” said G.E. “Our quarterback is one of the boys working there.”
“I heard the human pestilence has already cleared land for a new
Wal-Mart,” said the Emperor of the North. “How about we bomb some of the construction equipment just to send a message? Wal-Mart is one of the largest human corporations. If we stop Wal-Mart, we will harm their morale big time.”
“Those bastards,” said G.E. “If the human pestilence thinks they can build a Wal-Mart right in the middle of East Finisterra, they have grossly underestimated our determination and resolve. They are so arrogant. We strike at midnight.”
“Some of my fighters are asking for resolution on Ralph Singh,” advised the Emperor of the North. “Have you given any thought as to how much ransom we should demand?”
“How about fifty million dollars?” asked G.E. “I think they will gladly pay that amount.”
“We need to demand at least five hundred million dollars,” said the Emperor of the North. “We have a lot of overhead to account for. Everyone who has stayed in the insurgency expects a cut of the ransom.”
“What?” asked G.E. “I was hoping to just split it between you and me, with maybe a little left over for the insurgency. Fifty million dollars is a manageable amount. Five hundred million dollars couldn’t be hauled away in a dump truck.”
“The ransom is bigger than you and me,” said the Emperor of the North. “The purpose of the ransom is to gain respect for the cause, not for anyone’s profit or personal gain. It will be used to finance further operations against the human pestilence. Paying the ransom will humiliate the human pestilence.”
“Why not ask for a cool billion dollars?” asked G.E. “Singh is more than good for it.”
America's Galactic Foreign Legion - Book 2: Reenlistment Page 12