AMERICA’S GALACTIC FOREIGN LEGION
Book 17: Randal Telk and the 396 Steps to Sexual Bliss
by
Walter Knight
and
James Boedeker
In a galaxy far, far away, the seventeenth installment of this perpetually preposterous military science fiction series continues Private Randal Telk’s travails as his psychosis hits full bloom. The Galactic Foreign Legion, stationed at planet New Colorado’s New Gobi Desert, goes on a manhunt to find and rescue the fair Elena, Telk’s legionnaire bride, after she is taken hostage by the Fist & Claw rebel alliance. The rebels continue to evade capture, to the consternation of the battalion commander, Colonel Joey R. Czerinski, and the rest of the Legion.
Meanwhile, Private Telk falls deeper into the alternate reality of his psychotic delusions involving the super-hot Yolanda and his amazing 396 Steps to Sexual Bliss, providing world-famous science-fiction writer Private Knight with more fantasy fodder for his books. Time traveler and tank commander Captain Patton gives some sage advice about adapting and surviving, and Telk does his best to take it to heart as he tries to stay focused on finding his wife. However, it is an old Legion foe who provides the last bit of help Telk needs to push forward and rescue Elena. The question is, can Telk remain lucid long enough to get the job done before the terrorists kill Elena?
America’s Galactic Foreign Legion has really gone off the reservation this time as the way-out wackiness continues to get even weirder.
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AMERICA’S GALACTIC FOREIGN LEGION
Book 17: Randal Telk and the 396 Steps to Sexual Bliss
by
Walter Knight
and
James Boedeker
Licensed and Produced through
Penumbra Publishing
http://PenumbraPublishing.com
ELECTRONIC EDITION
EBOOK ISBN/EAN-13: 978-1-938758-08-9
Copyright 2012 Walter Knight and James Boedeker
All rights reserved
Also available in PRINT ISBN/EAN-13: 978-1-938758-09-6
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, planets, asteroids, alien species, evil empires, galaxies far, far way, or future events and incidents, are the product of the author’s imagination, or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons or aliens, living or dead, events or locales including those on Mars and New Colorado, is entirely coincidental.
Licensing Note: This ebook is licensed and sold for your personal enjoyment. Under copyright law, you may not resell, give away, or share copies of this book. You may purchase additional copies of this book for other individuals or direct them to purchase their own copies. If you are reading this book but did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, out of respect for the author’s effort and right to earn income from the work, please contact the publisher or retailer to purchase a legal copy.
~BOOKS BY THE AUTHORS~
Books by Walter Knight:
America’s Galactic Foreign Legion series
Book 1: Feeling Lucky
Book 2: Reenlistment
Book 3: Silent Invasion
Book 4: Demilitarized Zone
Book 5: Insurgency
Book 6: Culture War
Book 7: Enemies
Book 8: Allies
Book 9: Scorpions
Book 10: Peacekeepers
Book 11: Cemetery City
Book 12: The Ark
Book 13: Salesman from Mars
Book 14: Embassy War
Book 15: Lieutenant Columbus
Vampire in the Outfield
(AGFL Book 18 coming soon!)
Books by Walter Knight and James Boedeker:
AGFL Book 16: Galactic Disney
AGFL Book 17: Randal Telk
Books by James Boedeker:
Death Spiral series:
Death Spiral
Death Spiral Book 2: Jai Dee
(Book 3 coming soon!)
~AUTHOR ACKNOWLEDGEMENT~
I dedicate America’s Galactic Foreign Legion – Book 17: Randal Telk to American hero Norman Schwarzkopf.
A special thank you goes out to Penumbra Publishing editor Patricia Morrison. Also I thank my loving family – Barb, Leslie, Kathy, and Michael. They are everything.
AMERICA’S GALACTIC FOREIGN LEGION
Book 17: Randal Telk and the 396 Steps to Sexual Bliss
by
Walter Knight
and
James Boedeker
Chapter 1
I am Colonel Joey R. Czerinski, commander of United States Galactic Federation Foreign Legion garrison at New Gobi City, planet of New Colorado. To the north are the spiders of the Arthropodan Empire, our tenuous allies in the war on terrorism against the Fist and Claw, a separatist terrorist organization of both humans and aliens operating on both sides of the Demilitarized Zone. Terrorist attacks are becoming more frequent. Today, General Daly, Governor of the American half of New Colorado, called me to outline a new strategy in the war on terrorism.
“Jimmy the Neck and his associates will be contacting you shortly to discuss a truce and an amnesty,” announced General Daly. “We are now allied with the Mafia in the war on terrorism. You will work out the details and utilize Jimmy’s vast contacts to rout out the Fist and Claw.”
“Sir, dealing with the Mafia is a mistake,” I argued. “The Mafia should have never been allowed past Mars. You are only giving them credibility and power by making deals.”
“After we wipe out the Fist and Claw, you can wipe out the Mafia, too,” explained General Daly, annoyed. “I understand you know Jimmy the Neck from your deployment at Caldera Lake. Jimmy owns a casino there that competes with your casinos. Do not let your many conflicts of interest interfere with your duty to protect the citizenry of New Colorado.”
“Sir, I resent that implication.”
“The Fist and Claw is growing. Today they are contained to the DMZ. Tomorrow their attacks may spread to all of New Colorado, and even Old Earth. We need to marshal all of humanity’s resources to win the war on terrorism. Understand?”
“Yes, sir.”
* * * * *
“I made General Daly an offer he couldn’t refuse,” bragged Jimmy the Neck, seated in my office, flanked by his associates Johnny the Gut, Tony the Knuckle, and Big Al Alfredo. “Now that New Gobi City is part of my territory, I want five percent – no, make that ten percent – of your revenue from the Blind Tiger Casino.”
“Arrest them all,” I ordered. “Throw these wise guys in the dungeon forever!”
“What about General Daly?” asked Jimmy the Neck, struggling with Master Sergeant Green and a squad of legionnaires. “We had a deal!”
“The deal was that you would assist in the war on terrorism because it is in our mutual interest to stop bombings,” I replied. “Daly agreed to nothing about you muscling in on my action.”
“Fine, Czerinski!” shouted Jimmy the Neck. “Perhaps I was hasty in assuming the extent of General Daly’s goodwill. I don’t need your action. I was just joking. Let’s work out another deal.”
“Shoot them at dawn!”
“There’s no reason to shoot all of us,” pleaded Johnny the Gut. “Just shoot Jimmy. He’s the one getting uppity. I have always had nothing but deep respect for you, and a desire for good relations with all our brothers in the Legion.”
“Too late. You’ve been replaced. Shoot them all!”
“You are disobeying General Daly’s orders,” advised Major Lopez, my XO, watching the wise guys dragged away. “Is that smart?”
“Daly told me to work with the Mafia to fight the Fist and Claw. He did not say which Mafia. I’ll make an offer that can’t be refused to someone else. No one muscles in on my casino action. It would set a bad precedent.”
“Czerinski, you know nothing about fighting terrorism!” shouted Jimmy the Neck defiantly as he was dragged away. “Did you hear the one about the Polish terrorist they sent out to blow up a car? He burned his lips on a tail pipe! You’re a punk, Czerinski!”
“Shoot him at dawn!”
* * * * *
Corporal Elena Ceausescu entered spider territory to shop in the newly established tax-free zone. Elena reveled in her newlywed status to Private Randal Telk. Shopping and domestic bliss suited her to a tee. Carefree, Elena crossed the street to Walmart, VISA card in hand.
“Halt, human pestilence!” ordered a spider traffic cop. “Did you not see the sign when you entered the Empire? You will obey all laws!”
“What laws?” asked Elena. “I’ve done nothing wrong. Bug off, bug boy!”
“You jaywalked!”
“I’m a legionnaire. The Legion goes where it pleases!”
“Not in the Empire,” insisted the spider cop, already calling for back-up. More spider cops gathered. “You are under arrest, human pestilence.”
Elena reached for her sidearm, but faced a dozen spider cops, assault rifles drawn. She raised her hands.
“You will be locked up for one hour,” advised the spider cop, pointing to a cage by the sidewalk. “Let that be a lesson to your evil unsafe jaywalking ways!”
Elena stooped to enter the cage, and sat. Passersby pointed and gossiped about the human pestilence jaywalking legionnaire. She was rumored to be a serial jaywalker, but this was her first time in custody. Kids threw candy, feeling sorry for the human pestilence. Elena watched a digital timer marking her sentence to the second. For this humiliation, she swore revenge on that bug cop when she got out.
As Elena’s sentence expired, a van pulled up alongside the cage. Hooded spiders exited, binding Elena, and tossed her in the van. “Elena Ceausescu,” one of them announced, “you are now a hostage of the Fist and Claw.”
“You will be sorry!” threatened Elena, still struggling in the van. “The Legion will not tolerate this atrocity. My husband will hunt you down to the ends of the galaxy, and kill you all slow and painful!”
* * * * *
I met with the spider commander of North New Gobi City, as was my custom whenever there was a border incident. He seemed to express genuine concern about the alien abduction of Corporal Ceausescu.
“I hold you personally responsible,” I accused. “Corporal Ceausescu was locked up in one of your portable jails when abducted.”
“I assure you, I am just as concerned about Elena’s welfare as you,” replied the spider commander defensively. “Elena is one of the few human pestilence I care about, even if she did turn into a serial jaywalker. We were intimate once, you know.”
“Until Elena sobered up and almost killed you with a frying pan,” interrupted Master Sergeant Green. “Your death would be no big loss.”
“Jealousy rears its ugly head,” scoffed the spider commander. “Elena dropped you for me. I am not surprised your inadequacies surface in the presence of a superior male of the species, such as myself.”
“Ceausescu was a puta,” commented Major Lopez. “That explains her poor taste.”
“Corporal Ceausescu is a fine legionnaire, and our only medic,” I advised. “The abduction of a legionnaire is a serious matter, and the press is already turning it into an intergalactic incident. How could you be so negligent to not have jailers watching your portable jails?”
“This from the Butcher of New Colorado?” bristled the spider commander. “How many innocents have died in your custody?”
“None! I just get bad press, like what you’re going to get if the Fist and Claw harms Corporal Ceausescu. Do you have any suggestions about how we get her back?”
“There is a cave and tunnel system in the heights north of town. I propose a joint operation between Arthropoda and the United States Galactic Federation. We’ll form a task force to rout out the Fist and Claw terrorists.”
“The Legion doesn’t need your help,” argued Master Sergeant Green. “Stay away from Elena.”
“No matter, you are getting my assistance anyway,” insisted the spider commander. “I will not allow the Legion to trespass and run amuck without an official Arthropodan military escort.”
“Corporal Ceausescu has moved on from both of you and is happily married,” I commented. “Get over your personal differences and work together. Our enemy is the Fist and Claw.”
“Yes, I heard Elena married a lowly speck of human pestilence, a Private Randal Telk of your Legion,” replied the spider commander, checking the database on his communications pad. The spider commander frowned, focusing many of his eight eyes on his pad as he mumbled, “Military Intelligence has compiled a dossier on Private Telk and his rumored three-hundred-ninety-six steps to sexual bliss. And what is the Big Bang Theory? That’s impossible!” The spider commander shook his head. “As Lopez noted, there is no accounting for bad taste.”
* * * * *
With spider approval, a company of legionnaires was deployed at North New Gobi City Heights, along with gas-pumping equipment to flush the terrorists out of their tunnels. One of the anxious legionnaires was Private Randal Telk. Private Telk was alarmed as he read the instructions for the concoction they were brewing to pour down the spider holes. “Walmart anti-mole remover,” read Private Telk aloud. “Guaranteed to eliminate moles, or your money back. What if this stuff eliminates Elena?”
“Collateral damage is always a possibility,” answered Master Sergeant Green. “Don’t worry, Corporal Ceausescu will tough it out.”
“Maybe we should go down the tunnel ourselves,” suggested Private Telk. “I’ll go down.”
“The tunnel system is too extensive, and it’s too dangerous,” Green replied dismissively. “This is the best way.”
There has to be a better way, thought Private Telk, as he drifted off into another daydream. For Telk, reality was often blurred. A Legion psychiatrist and recruiter promised to fix his psychosis. However, even a lucid Private Telk knew there had to be a better way to get Elena back. Under duress from his worry about Elena’s safety, Telk fell into fantasy mode...
* * * * *
Randal Telk’s job was to clear tunnels. Someone had to do it, so it might as well be the baddest, meanest, deadliest commando in the world. Telk loved his job, delivering death to an enemy who felt safe and invincible underground. Many times Telk turned down promotions to the officer corps, not wanting to give up his one-man subterranean carnage upon the enemy.
Telk’s job was simple. Crawl into the enemy’s lair, look for booby traps and weapons, and kill anyone inside. The enemy labeled Telk ‘The Devil’s Dick.’ Telk always found his prey, making it seem he was in league with the Devil. The enemy knew if they encountered Telk, they were fucked, their time alive measured in seconds. Telk was amused by the notoriety among the enemy, so on his chest he tattooed a Grim Reaper sporting an erection. It seemed like a good idea at the time.
Telk studied the dark hole he was about to enter, always mindful of traps. The entrance was just big enough to squeeze through. Last week Telk had almost been killed by trip-wired explosives. Telk found a large cache of munitions, and four terrorists playing poker. Now they played poker in Hell. It was a good week.
Telk’s commander was a typical officer, a pussy to the core. The man had never entered a tunnel in his life, but demanded others risk their lives. Beady-eyed with impossibly small fingers, chopped off in a paper shredder accident at Headquarters, the Army grafted cadaver pinky toes on the fool’s hands, saving money on disability pay. It amused Telk to watch his incompetent boss struggle to pick his nose with stinky hammer-toe nubs.
Today Captain Hammer Toe demanded the tunnel be cleared, but it was rumo
red to be full of snakes. Telk had already found one viper, biting its head off and spitting it on the captain’s boots. Telk once bit off one of the ears of Mike Tyson XXIV on a dare, so the snake was no big deal. Telk hated his commanding officer and planned worse for the fool. It was only a matter of time before Telk was pushed too far.
“Care to lead the way, sir?” he taunted. “Show me how it’s done. I heard you hate snakes.”
“Get your ass down that hole. I’m through screwing with you!”
Telk lit a cigarette, in no hurry. After finishing the smoke, he entered with bare essentials – flashlight, large jagged combat knife, and sidearm. He was a natural underground, moving fast like a groundhog on a mission. There was no light, and the air was foul. Telk’s fart added to the unbearable stench. He sensed he would meet the Grim Reaper today for sure.
Telk daydreamed in his daydream, sometimes living vicariously through himself, worrying of his beautiful wife Yolanda, kidnapped by terrorists, and still missing. How she must have suffered from withdrawal symptoms, cut off cold turkey from Telk’s three-hundred-ninety-six steps to sexual bliss. Those bastards would pay!
Randal Telk’s vendetta against the terrorists was legendary. The CIA often called upon Telk to rout out terrorists from their caves and other nefarious dens. Once the President himself called upon Telk to eradicate a rogue mouse that terrified the White House staff. Telk unmercifully tracked down Willard and his family of mutant rodents. Telk was decorated for that one.
* * * * *
“Fire in the hole!” shouted Master Sergeant Green. “Telk! Get your head out of your ass and duck! Fire in the hole!”
Yellow gas was pumped down the spider hole. Puffs of smoke rose from other entrances. Soon a lone spider climbed out, coughing and gasping for air. It wasn’t a terrorist, though. It was only Private Seven-Legs, a spider legionnaire deserter and homeless bum extraordinaire. “Anyone got some spare change?” he asked.
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