“No,” said the Fleet Commander. “At least not yet. Look at the big picture. When our mission started, we were arguing with the human pestilence about whether our fleet should stay in orbit. Now we are negotiating borders on the planet’s surface. Our marines have occupied half of Camp Alaska, and we have freed all prisoners. All this happened without a fight.”
“We cannot let them bomb us without retaliation,” said the Special Forces Commander. “To allow their treachery would invite more.”
“All in good time,” said the Fleet Commander. “Camp Alaska is just a crossroads. The prize is the oil and uranium fields. We will extend our zones of influence out from Camp Alaska until the prize is ours. That is the mission the Emperor gave us. We will not deviate from the Emperor’s plan. We will follow orders.”
“Of course you are right, as usual,” said the Special Forces Commander. “That General Kalipetsis is a fool. He will give us what we want. It’s Captain Czerinski I worry about. I think Captain Czerinski acted on his own to destroy our shuttles. And it was Czerinski that used a nuke to destroy Finisterra.”
“General Kalipetsis is smarter than he appears,” said the Fleet Commander. “But I agree. Something needs to be done about Captain Czerinski.”
“Leave it to me,” said the Special Forces Commander. “I will kill him personally.”
“His death has to look like an accident, or at least from unknown causes,” cautioned the Fleet Commander. “Have a subordinate kill Czerinski. I do not want our negotiations team linked to the assassination.”
“I will use nerve agent dipped onto the tip of an assassin’s claw,” said the Special Forces Commander. “Just one scratch will kill him instantly.”
“Remember, we need to be subtle,” said the Fleet Commander. “We cannot be linked directly to his death.”
“Czerinski has a reputation for brawling,” said the Special Forces Commander. “In the chaos of a bar fight, our assassin can easily scratch Czerinski. The Legion may be suspicious, but they will not be able to prove anything.”
“Do it,” ordered the Fleet Commander. “I like your plan.”
“One other thing,” said the Special Forces Commander. “What do you know about this dragon fight between our champion and some Legion dragon? I did not even know the Legion had dragons. I am seeing fliers posted all over both sides of Camp Alaska, announcing the fight.”
“I know all about that. I have two million credits bet on our champion,” answered the Fleet Commander. “I suggest you bet now before the odds increase. I have been given complementary tickets ringside, if you want to join me.”
* * * * *
The fight was Saturday night. Privately owned helicopters brought spectators all the way from New Memphis and New Disneyland. Cable and Satellite TV set up to broadcast the fight planet-wide. A stretch limousine brought Carlos Bonanno to town. Bonanno set up a meeting with Guido and the spider marine dragon handler. Bonanno brought both human and spider muscle to the meeting.
“I thought the whole Bonanno Family got whacked by the Legion in New Memphis,” commented Guido. “Obviously we missed a few.”
“Our misunderstandings are ancient history,” said Carlos Bonanno. “I look to the future. That is where the money is to be made.”
“I’m listening,” said Guido. He brought Private Wayne and Corporal Williams along, but felt uncomfortably outgunned by the mobsters. “What is this all about?”
“I have in this vial an adrenalin-activated poison,” said Bonanno, holding the vial up for all to see. He turned to address the spider marine. “You will inject this poison into your dragon fifteen minutes before the fight. When the dragons clash, the adrenalin will activate the poison and kill your dragon instantly. Your dragon’s throat will be torn out so fast, no one will notice why or how the champion’s guard was lowered for just an instant. You will dispose of the body quickly afterward.”
“I will not agree to that!” objected the astonished spider marine. He got up to leave with the several of his marine friends. “The arrogance of you human pestilence never ceases to amaze me.”
“And the naivety of you spiders never ceases to amaze me,” countered Bonanno.
One of Carlos Bonanno’s bodyguards blocked the spider marine’s path, placing a threatening claw on his chest. “I understand how you feel,” said the spider bodyguard. “To compensate you for your loss, we will give you ten percent of the take. You will be rich. This is an offer you cannot refuse.”
“I do refuse!” said the spider marine. “My dragon Satan is a champion. I will not throw his life away for money!”
“The gambling on this fight has gone planet-wide,” said the spider bodyguard. “There is now too much money involved for us to let this go to chance. Your dragon must lose, because the smart money says so.”
“I do not care about your betting,” said the marine spider. “Who are you to expect me to do the bidding of the human pestilence? You are a disgrace.”
“This is not about the human pestilence,” said the spider bodyguard. “You say you do not care about money? Do you care about the safety of your family on Inhabited Planet #3?”
“How do you know about my family?” asked the spider marine. “What are you?”
“We are La Cosa Nostra,” said the spider bodyguard. “Our organization operates on both human and Arthropodan worlds. We will kill you and your entire family if we can not come to an understanding here and now.”
The spider marine looked to his comrades. “Don’t do it,” said one of the other spider marines. “Death to the human pestilence!” The others joined in the chant.
The spider bodyguard shot the chanting marine in the head. He turned to the dragon handler. “Please, it does not have to end this way. Everyone can be happy and make a profit. It’s just business.”
“Okay. I agree,” said the spider marine, patting Satan on the snout. “You win.”
* * * * *
An hour before the fight, an Italian named Gino walked into my office like he owned the place and tossed two duffel bags full of cash onto my desk.
“What’s this?” asked Lieutenant Lopez.
“It’s both of your cuts,” said Gino. “Fifty thousand dollars each.”
“For what?” I asked, examining the duffel.
“For the fight,” said Gino.
“What about the fight?” I asked. “It’s legal. I’m not shaking you down for a payoff.”
“It’s the law,” said Gino. “The commanding officers get a cut whether you do anything or not. We prefer you don’t do anything.”
“Thanks. I’ll take the money,” said Lieutenant Lopez. “I’m not turning down free money.”
“Nothing is free,” I said, putting my duffel under my desk. “I’ll take my cut. But, when the fight is over, you will conclude your business in Camp Alaska and get back to New Memphis where you belong. Next time, get permission from me before entering Legion territory, or I will hunt down and kill all of you vermin who stray into my territory.”
* * * * *
The two dragons pulled at their leashes. Guido and the spider marine let them close enough to almost taste. Both dragons wanted a kill. Both were released at the same time, to the cheer of the crowd. Spot drew blood first, striking with lightning speed at Satan’s throat. The lunge missed, however, and Spot was only able to bite Satan’s shoulder. Satan shook off the smaller dragon, muscling in for the kill. The poison took hold, shutting down Satan’s brain just as he was about to finish Spot. The hesitation allowed Spot to tear out Satan’s throat, abruptly ending the fight. Guido pulled Spot off the dead dragon and led him around the ring to the cheering of the crowd. The spider marine knelt down to hug his fallen dragon, and to cover Satan with a tarp.
The crowd went wild as Guido continued parading Spot around the ring. They gave Spot a standing ovation. I clapped and cheered, too. I thought I was going to lose my money tonight.
Suddenly, a spider next to me gave me a shove. “Watch where
you are going, clumsy human pestilence!” yelled a spider, reaching out with his claw. The spider was jostled by the crowd just as he was about to strike. His claw went wide, scratching Gino instead. Gino fell to the floor in spasms at my feet, and died. Lieutenant Lopez shot the spider in the back of the head. The assassin fell dead on top of Gino. The crowd kept cheering, not noticing my close brush with death.
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Chapter 3
“I want to know what happened to Gino,” demanded Carlos Bonanno, pointing his finger at me. “You were responsible for security. That’s what you got paid for.”
“Gino was killed by a nerve gas agent placed on the tip of a spider assassin’s claw,” I replied, tossing the claw on my desk. “The assassin meant to kill me. Gino was killed by accident when he got too close to the scuffle.”
“I want justice for Gino,” insisted Bonanno. “Not Legion excuses.”
“I shot and killed the assassin,” said Lieutenant Lopez. “How much more justice can you want?”
“It would have been better if you took the assassin alive, so I could find out who sent him,” groused Bonanno. The mobster turned his full attention to Lieutenant Lopez. Lopez was quite a sight, with half his face still bandaged from his previous burns. “What happened to you?”
“War wound,” said Lieutenant Lopez. “A rocket fried me and my tank.”
“Who do you think sent the assassin?” asked Bonanno. “There’s a long list of people and bugs who would like to see you dead, Czerinski. Who did you piss off this time?”
“It was probably either the Arthropodan Fleet Commander or his Special Forces Commander,” I speculated.
“Aren’t you going to do something about it?” asked Bonanno.
“Of course I am going to do something about it,” I said. “I’m going to kill someone. But I am not going to do it now, and it doesn’t concern you. If there is going to be killing done in Camp Alaska, it will be done by the Legion. Not you or any other wise guy.”
“It’s a large galaxy,” threatened Bonanno, getting up to leave. “I will respect your territory, but I will avenge Gino.”
“Keep the claw as a souvenir,” suggested Lieutenant Lopez, handing it to Bonanno. “Be careful of the tip. It still holds enough nerve agent to kill an elephant.”
“I give the Fleet Commander his cut, then he violates our goodwill, and the law, by ordering a hit at the fight,” commented Bonanno, as he picked up the claw and handed it to a bodyguard. “He will pay.”
I watched Carlos Bonanno and his thugs drive away in the stretch limousine. “What do you think he will do?” I asked. “Whack the Fleet Commander?”
“I hope so, but I don’t really care,” replied Lieutenant Lopez. “I’m more interested in what you are going to do.”
“Not that much,” I answered. “I’ll probably just start another war.”
* * * * *
The Empire claimed a large portion of the Arctic oil fields. They sent armored vehicles and Special Forces marines from Camp Alaska to expand their zones of influence. Spider checkpoints did not block traffic or in any way hinder oil rig operations, but taxes were collected on all imports and exports.
General Kalipetsis was furious. He demanded that United States Galactic Federation control be restored in the Arctic. After more negotiations, however, new borders were drawn reflecting the new reality and new spider zones of control.
Lieutenant Lopez took the armored car out to escort Legion survey teams putting up new boundary markers. He met spider marines placing their own markers. The spider markers, however, were twenty miles in error. The difference was important because it put an important oil field inside the spider zone of control. Lieutenant Lopez confronted the spider survey team on the matter.
“You are trespassing by twenty miles,” accused Lieutenant Lopez. “Leave now or face arrest.”
“Our survey is correct,” responded a spider team leader. He reached for his rifle.
Lieutenant Lopez shot the spider team leader. Sergeant Green killed the rest of the spiders with the mounted machine gun. A lone spider escaped by hiding behind the armored car, then running to the forest. As Lieutenant Lopez prepared to go after him, the spider screamed. The sound of wolves tearing the spider apart echoed through the forest.
“That spider is wolf shit now,” commented Lieutenant Lopez, straining to see through the trees and underbrush. “No soldier should die like that.”
“I hate it out here in the sticks,” said Sergeant Green. “There is nothing but wolves, rain, snow, mud, jungle, and big old scary looking trees. It looks like something from a Euro-trash fairytale. Give me concrete below my feet any day.”
A Legion surveyor tapped Lieutenant Lopez on the shoulder. “I was twenty miles off on our survey,” he advised sheepishly. “Sorry about that. The spiders were right. My bad.”
Lieutenant Lopez’s jaw dropped. He looked back at the dead spider marines. “You have got to be kidding. This is a joke. Right? It better be a joke!”
“Oops,” said Sergeant Green. “You screwed up again, sir!”
“I just checked the satellite GPS,” said the surveyor. “The spiders’ survey was right.”
“No, the spiders were wrong,” insisted Lieutenant Lopez. “You change your survey findings. We will move the spiders’ markers twenty miles north as planned, and put our markers next to them. Understand? You better.”
“But that would be an inaccurate survey,” argued the surveyor. “It would violate the Surveyor’s Code.”
“It’s too late to quibble about small details, unless you want to join those spiders,” threatened Lieutenant Lopez. “Drag those spiders out into the woods and let the wolves eat them. We will hide their truck at our repair shop at Camp Alaska, and sell it for parts. No one needs to know what happened here.”
* * * * *
A supply ship from Arthropoda docked with the Fleet Commander’s Flag Ship. Much anticipated personal letters and packages from home accompanied the supplies. One such package was addressed to the Fleet Commander and dropped of at his cabin, being that the Fleet Commander was on the planet’s surface, negotiating boundary disputes with General Kalipetsis.
The backpack-sized nuke in the package was programmed to explode when opened. Because the package was not opened, a separate timer exploded the nuke anyway. The entire Flag Ship was destroyed, along with its crew.
Another package was sent to the Special Forces Commander, containing the assassin’s claw and a single sheet of paper displaying a black hand.
* * * * *
“The Legion is responsible for the destruction of your Flag Ship,” said the Special Forces Commander. “Proof is this package they sent me. This claw belongs to my team leader. Only Czerinski could have cut it off and sent it to me. And see that black hand on the paper? It’s a human hand.”
“State Intelligentsia is investigating the matter,” said the Fleet Commander. “Both packages were mailed from Arthropoda.”
“Impossible,” said the Special Forces Commander.
“I have made discrete inquiries,” said the Fleet Commander. “Your team leader’s body was cremated. The black hand is a universal sign for the Mafia.”
“That proves my point,” said the Special Forces Commander. “The Mafia is a figment of human pestilence imagination. It’s just a bunch of human thugs doing the Legion’s bidding.”
“The Mafia does exist.,” advised the Fleet Commander. “Even on Arthropoda.”
“Human pestilence and spiders working together in an elaborate criminal enterprise?” asked the Special Forces Commander. “Not likely. Surely you do not believe in such conspiracy theories. Are we being spied upon by black space ships, too?”
“How else can you explain a nuke being mailed from Arthropoda?” asked the Fleet Commander. “Do you think the Legion can do that?” And on such short notice?”
“Yes, with the help of Green traitors,” insisted the Special Forces Commander. “We have all
owed too many Green spiders to immigrate to New Colorado. The traitors are even forming their own Foreign Legion units. We should have killed them all when we had the chance.”
“You would set up death camps for the Greens?” asked the Fleet Commander. “Sociologists say the more contact we have with the human pestilence, the more we think like them. Your last statement seems to prove them right.”
“What do a bunch of think-tank eggheads know?” chided the Special Forces Commander. “The irony is that the human pestilence will eventually turn on the Greens. They have already put the Greens on a reservation located on unwanted desert.”
“I heard Waterstone is a thriving independent country,” commented the Fleet Commander. “And it has been allowed to expand its borders.”
“Whatever,” said the Special Forces Commander. “Let the Greens bunch up in one place. That will only make it easier to nuke them when the time comes.”
“I am not interested in your radical politics,” said the Fleet Commander. “Order your troops to interact with the human pestilence at the zone gates. Make inquires about the Mafia. I want to know more about the Mafia. Lately our military intelligence has been weak.”
“I still do not believe the Mafia exists,” said the Special Forces Commander. “What about the gamblers? Maybe they are upset about something?”
“I do not see what the gamblers would be upset about,” replied the Fleet Commander, glumly. “They took all my money.”
“I lost my money, too,” said the Special Forces Commander. “In fact, the gamblers took everyone’s money. How did our champion lose? It was a sure thing.”
“Sure things are always a sucker’s bet,” lamented the Fleet Commander. “I want you to talk to our dragon handler. I smell something rotten in Camp Alaska.”
America's Galactic Foreign Legion - Book 3: Silent Invasion Page 3