Culture War

by Walter Knight

  “Screw you,” said Pena, turning his back to the ATM to walk away.

  “That would be impossible,” said the ATM. “Where are you going? Be warned! I would not rejoin your friends. I have already alerted the authorities about their boat. I have a fine view of the docks from here. I saw you arrive with that rabble this morning.”

  “You snitch!” said Pena, striking the ATM with his fist. “I would rather go to jail than reenlist in the Legion.”

  “You won’t stay in jail all that long,” said the ATM. “The spiders will execute you shortly after your arrest. I guarantee it will be a painful execution, too. They are real upset at you and your friends.”

  “Can you sell me a new ID?” asked Pena. “I didn’t hurt anyone. Tony killed that spider guard. I was just along for the ride. I thought hiring on as Juardo’s muscle would be a cushy job. Then things just got crazy. But, I didn’t actually do anything. There was nothing I could do to stop them. Can you help me out?”

  “Take responsibility for your actions,” said the ATM. “Say it! You made a poor decision to put yourself in bad situations by associating with Mafia and underworld types. You have no one to blame but yourself.”

  “Okay!” said Pena. “I screwed up by hanging with that Juardo. I thought it would be easy money. So what? Are you happy now? What’s done is done. Now what do I do?”

  “Take charge of your life,” said the ATM, producing an enlistment contract on a slide tray. “Join the United States Galactic Federation Foreign Legion. Enjoy fun, travel, and adventure. Do something worthwhile with your life.”

  Pena capitulated and put his thrumb on the pad for formal identification and contract finalization. “I don’t believe I did this again.”

  “You made an excellent decision, Private Lewis Pena,” said the ATM. “Report immediately to Legion Headquarters in New Gobi City. I bought you bus passage. Do not get sidetracked. We may be at war soon, and I know you don’t want to miss that.”

  “War?” asked Pena. “I didn’t sign up to go to war. What war? I better be getting a big enlistment bonus if there is going to be a war!”

  “The war you and your friends have started,” said the ATM. “Shooting has already started at New Memphis. It’s only poetic justice that you might get to fight in it, too. How many people that start a war get to actually participate in it from a private’s perspective? I think you may be a first.”

  * * * * *

  Saviano Juardo sailed his boat south through the fog at night. Pena deserted. Good riddance, thought Juardo. Next Juardo would have to ditch those two worthless spiders, Tony the Claw and Eight Legs Roman. At least Mitchell had Teamster connections. It always helped to be connected. But if he had to hear Mitchell say ‘dude’ one more time, Juardo swore he might throw the trucker overboard. Suddenly, the pitch darkness turned to daylight as searchlights lit up Juardo’s boat. “What more could go wrong?” asked Juardo, looking up to God for an answer to his problems. A PA system blared, “This is Captain Gregoire of the USGF Foreign Legion ship Predator II. You all are under arrest. Put your hands in the air. Prepare to be boarded!”

  Tony the Claw put on a life jacket and jumped into the river to escape. He sank to the bottom and drowned. Juardo and Eight Legs were arrested and taken to Legion Headquarters in New Gobi City, pending extradition. Mitchell was held as a material witness pending his release.

  At the detention center, Guido brought Juardo a pizza. He sat across the bars with a somber expression on his face. “I guess this means we are out of business,” said Guido. “No more casino? No more bookie business? No more sports bets? I suppose I could start my own business, but I really don’t have the financing.”

  “You need financing?” asked Juardo “Get me out of here, and I’ll pay you a million dollars.”

  “Sorry Juardo,” said Guido. “Your run in the sun is over.”

  back to top

  Chapter 14

  General Daly did not want Private Krueger and Dawn returning from their honeymoon right away, because of escalating tension on New Colorado. He told them to stay on Mars and wait for an important assignment. Eventually orders were sent for Private Krueger to escort a defector to Montana and get him settled. Private Krueger met Sergeant Williams and the spider pilot defector at the Mars Spaceport. From there they shuttled to Montana.

  “I did not realize there were so many human pestilence in the galaxy,” commented the pilot. “Mars and Missoula seem overrun with you humans. This is not how I pictured Big Sky Country. Maybe I should have stayed and bought a ranch on New Colorado.”

  “Nonsense,” said Sergeant Williams. “They’re about to go to war again on New Colorado. This time they’ll probably nuke the whole place. I can’t think of a better time to take a vacation from all that madness. This is easy duty, and I am staying right here for as long as possible.”

  “Where do we go first?” asked Private Krueger. “What’s there to see in Montana?”

  “We have enough funds on my Legion credit card to buy fly-boy here a ranch and do a whole lot of partying,” said Sergeant Williams, letting out a rebel yell. “First, we rent a car and look at ranch property in the countryside.”

  “Why is everyone staring at us?” asked Dawn. “Haven’t they ever seen spiders before?”

  “No,” said Sergeant Williams. “You two are a first for Missoula. Besides, we are all war heroes and have our medals to prove it.”

  “I want to see the site of the greatest battle of Montana,” said the spider pilot, as they went inside the airport restaurant to eat. “I want to see the Little Bighorn.”

  “Custer’s Last Stand?” asked Sergeant Williams. “I would think you would have had enough of the military, being that you just defected. Let’s find a casino.”

  “I have been reading on the database about the battle,” said the spider pilot. “Did you know Custer’s brother was awarded the Medal of Honor twice during your Civil War? But no one remembers him or even knows his name.”

  “His last name was Custer,” replied Private Krueger.

  “His first name was Tom,” said the spider pilot.

  “So what?” asked Sergeant Williams. “It’s ancient history now.”

  “There are lessons to be learned from ancient history,” insisted the spider pilot. “This should interest you, because you are still in the Legion and may yet face combat again. Lieutenant Colonel Custer’s defeat is a typical example of trying to defeat a superior force by surprise attack, but failing because divided forces failed to coordinate and press that attack. We have radios now, but still face the same problem. Think how hard it was to coordinate an attack during those primitive times.”

  “It’s like being your wingman at a tavern,” agreed Private Krueger. “Timing is everything.”

  “Your wingman days are over,” said Dawn, giving Willie an affectionate poke in the ribs. “You have been grounded.”

  As they walked inside the airport restaurant, all the patrons stopped eating and stared. The scrutiny was very uncomfortable. Dawn was about to lose her temper and storm out with Willie when an elderly man stood up and slowly began clapping his hands. Then another man started clapping his hands, too. Then two women stood up and did the same, only faster and with more enthusiasm. Patrons stood up to applaud in a genuine outpouring of friendship and patriotism. The customers had seen news reports from New Colorado and, by now, felt intimately familiar with them all and the exploits of the Legion. Private Krueger waved back, enjoying the attention. A few people sought autographs.

  “I don’t know who you are, or what they are,” said a waiter, addressing Sergeant Williams and Private Krueger while still staring at the two spiders, “but the manager just told me to give you four the best seat in the house. Your money is no good here. You dine for free because you are heroes of the Legion.”

  Sergeant Williams thought about giving a speech, but remembered his orders from General Daly to just lay low for a while and keep a low profile. General Daly promised to
extend this cushy assignment if Williams could just follow that one simple order!

  “Thanks.”

  * * * * *

  On New Colorado, things were heating up. Major Lopez and a brigade of Legion commandos parachuted into the forest just west of New Memphis.

  “How long do we have to camp out?” radioed Major Lopez. “It’s dark and creepy out here. The trees all have eyes. I feel like the forest is going to swallow us up, any minute.”

  “The spiders have given me a week to withdraw our armor,” I replied. “But we are staying, and so are our tanks.”

  “I am seeing lots of spider armor and artillery on the road to New Memphis,” commented Major Lopez, looking through his binoculars. “They are staging just outside the city limits. You are going to be severely outnumbered if we wait for their attack.”

  “I know. We will have the element of surprise when you hit them from the rear. Rear attacks always cause confusion.”

  “Maybe you should consider leaving New Memphis,” suggested Major Lopez. “It’s an enclave. It cannot be defended in a protracted struggle.”

  “That is not an option. Not ever. The Legion will not abandon an American city. The spiders’ plan to destroy Casino Row is just a small start of their larger cultural cleansing program. General Daly ordered that we will stay and fight.”

  “I don’t like fighting behind enemy lines,” replied Major Lopez. “New Memphis is not defendable.”

  “Maybe we need to draw new lines,” I said. “We control the River. Not to change the subject, but you should see my new headquarters. I’m in a suite at the top of the Riverfront Casino. I even have a stand-up Jacuzzi hot tub by my office, and pretty waitresses bringing me meals and drinks.”

  “I’m getting rained on,” complained Major Lopez. “It’s a constant drizzle. I can hear wolves howling in the hills. This is not good.”

  “What?” I asked. “You aren’t afraid of the Big Bad Wolf, are you?”

  “You know I am. If El Lobo shows up, I am attacking early.”

  “Wolves nipping at your heels will be good motivation for your legionnaires to advance deep into town.”

  “They don’t need motivation to get out of these woods,” replied Major Lopez. “It’s cold out here, there is already snow on the ground, the temperature is dropping, and we are dressed and equipped in desert gear. Who planned this fiasco?”

  “We did. Merry Christmas.” I cut transmission and went downstairs to eat breakfast with my troops at the casino buffet.

  * * * * *

  Civilians were not evacuating yet. After the first skirmish, most assumed the worst was over. However, I soon got a radio call for help from one of our checkpoints. I rushed to the perimeter and found tense legionnaires in a Starbucks parking lot. A spider jeep lay on its side, still smoking from cannon fire. An intense firefight was over now, although a sniper’s bullet pinged off my armored car as I arrived. I met Corporal Valdez, who briefed me on what happened.

  “What the hell is going on here?” I asked. “I thought we had a truce! Heads will roll if you fired first.”

  “One of our tanks was patiently waiting in line at the Starbucks drive-up window when this jeep-load of spiders cut the line and placed their order ahead of ours,” explained Corporal Valdez. “As you can see, our tank crew opened up with their cannon, and rightfully so.”

  Private Wayne interrupted. “Major Lopez reports spider tanks are entering New Memphis en masse. He wants to know if he should attack now. He says we can’t let their armor get into position, or all will be lost.”

  Alarmed, I called the spider general on the phone for an explanation. He was upset as usual. “Your constant provocations have forced me to move up the timetable for your withdrawal,” replied the spider general.

  “If your tanks come within eyesight of my position, I will respond with tactical nukes,” I threatened.

  “You would not dare,” said the spider general. “Not in a heavily populated area.”

  “Your use of human shields will be the focus of your war crimes trial,” I threatened.

  “There are just as many spiders living in New Memphis,” advised the spider general. “I do not want them harmed either. Our troop movements are merely a precautionary reaction to your aggression. Your armor attacked a defenseless vehicle full of marines.”

  “The least you could do is hold back your armor until civilians are allowed to evacuate,” I suggested. “Allow civilians to safely cross your lines.”

  “Human pestilence may not flee through Imperial territory,” responded the spider general. “You would use the chaos to infiltrate our positions and attack from our rear.”

  “I would not do that,” I said. “I am trying to prevent loss of life. Stop your tanks now.”

  “The legion fired first,” accused the spider general.

  “Your marines cut in front of the line at Starbucks,” I explained. “If you had more cultural sensitivity training, you would have known that sort of provocation in the early morning would have dire consequences. Legionnaires need their coffee!”

  “So do Arthropodan marines,” said the spider general, dismissively. “I did not realize your human pestilence addictions were so extreme as to justify murder.”

  “I will issue a formal apology and discipline those responsible for breaking the truce,” I promised.

  “I question your credibility,” said the spider general. “You have lied so often. What your legionnaires did this morning was unjustified.”

  “Have you had your latte yet?” I asked. “Don’t let an isolated incident start the next war. You started this cultural pogrom, so you know our differences are severe enough to cause violence.”

  “I will hold back my armor if you pull back your tanks from Starbucks,” relented the spider general. “We will discuss this in person. I am almost at Starbucks and need some java anyway.”

  “Agreed,” I said. “I will pull back my armor now. I am at Starbucks, and will even buy. Want to place your order now?”

  “Order me a twenty-ounce Grande Double Americano with white chocolate and cream served at exactly 212 degrees Fahrenheit,” ordered the spider general. “And don’t let them forget my Biscotti.”

  “He’s lucky I don’t spit in his Americano,” I commented to Private Wayne.

  “That’s a good idea,” replied Private Wayne. “I’ll do it for you, if you are squeamish.”

  “Tell Linda at Starbucks to seal the top of my cup with a tamper-proof lid,” added the spider general. “I do not want to tempt you to commit more nefarious Legion provocations on my drink.”

  “Paranoid bastard,” I commented, shaking my head.

  * * * * *

  I was all smiles as the spider general joined me inside Starbucks. He was all fangs, too. As we sat and dipped our Biscotti, Major Lopez attacked the spider tank columns at their new staging areas with anti-tank rockets. The sounds of destruction could be clearly heard, even inside Starbucks. Smoke rose on the horizon.

  “I knew your treachery had no bounds,” accused the spider general. “But I underestimated the extent of your evil and incompetence. You would attack during truce negotiations? Worse, you would attack during a coffee break? Of course you would. It is part of your human pestilence history to do so. It’s in your DNA. You had the audacity earlier to lecture me on cultural insensitivity? Your human pestilence culture is so morally bankrupt, it can barely qualify as a civilization. Your long, bloody history proves me out on this time and time again.”

  I drew my pistol and backed away to the front door and looked out. Legionnaires and spider marines were taking cover. “I don’t know what happened,” I said. “If that is us attacking, something went wrong with my communications.”

  “It doesn’t really matter what treachery you have planned,” commented the spider general. “You are surrounded, outnumbered, and outgunned. Your Legion is toast. You are toast.”

  “And you are my prisoner,” I said, motioning with my pistol for
the spider general to follow me. “Walk calmly to my armored car and get inside.”

  As we slowly walked outside, a missile exploded inside Starbucks, knocking us to the pavement. The spider general ran to safety, and I ran to the armored car. Private Wayne pulled me inside the hatch door, clamping it shut. He handed me the radio microphone. “Major Lopez wants to know why we have not attacked, too,” advised Private Wayne. “Arthropodan tanks are regrouping and about to counter attack his positions.”

  I spoke into the microphone. “Break off your attack. We are not able to help you yet. Fight a defensive battle until I can get you evacuated.”

  “May you burn in hell!” responded Major Lopez. “The plan was for us to attack at the same time. I will be overrun if you just sit on your hands. At least get us air support so we can retreat safely into the forest. Maybe the spiders won’t follow us. They’re still afraid of Old Earth wild animals lurking in the forest!”

  “I’ll try,” I promised. I called the spider general on the phone again. “I agree to withdraw completely from New Memphis if you will pull back and allow our shuttles to evacuate legionnaires. Otherwise, I set off nukes now.”

  “You will unconditionally surrender or face annihilation,” responded the spider general. “It’s your choice. We have nothing more to discuss.”

  “I will never surrender,” I said, disconnecting.

  Spider tanks pushed Major Lopez deeper into the forest. With no hope of help coming, Major Lopez set off a small tactical nuke just outside of town, causing a forest fire. Then he called the spider general on the phone to negotiate.

  “Does every human pestilence have my private phone number?” griped the spider general. “You are surrounded and have no chance of escape. Surrender, and you will be treated honorably. Otherwise, you will surely be wiped out.”