America's Galactic Foreign Legion - Book 2: Reenlistment (15 page)

“We are not human pestilence. There will be
no vote,” said G.E. “I command here. The matter is settled. We
ransom Singh. We will discuss for how much later.”

The room full of insurgents cheered and fired
their weapons into the air. The Emperor of the North agreed to
ransom Singh. When he did so, the Emperor of the North also allowed
General Electric to seize control as the Supreme Commander of the
insurgency.

* * * * *

Sergeant Green woke up in a hospital bed. A
Purple Heart had been pinned to his pillow. He looked over to the
next bed. Elena lay there smiling back at him.
Thank
God.

“It’s about time you woke up,” said Corporal
Ceausescu. “How many Purple Hearts do you have now? You get to wear
a cluster.”

“That’s what this whole military operation
consists of,” said Sergeant Green. “One big cluster.”

“Watch your mouth,” said Lieutenant Lopez, in
the next bed. “I’m in charge of this cluster.”

“What are you doing here?” asked Sergeant
Green. “I didn’t think officers got their hands dirty by leading
the troops into combat anymore. Have you been slumming again or did
the insurgency blow up your office?”

“Private Washington wrecked the armored car,”
said Lieutenant Lopez. “You know he doesn’t even have a driver’s
license? He tipped the armored car over right in front of City
Hall.”

“How did that happen?” asked Corporal
Ceausescu. “”Was he hurt?”

“Washington is fine,” said Lieutenant Lopez.
“He breaks a leg or arm, and he doesn’t even bleed much. He just
grows one back.”

“When do we get out of here?” asked Sergeant
Green. “Other than every part of my body hurting, I feel fine.”

“The Doc says we have concussions and broken
ribs,” advised Corporal Ceausescu. “After all the steroids they’re
giving us, we’ll be out sometime tomorrow.”

“Good. I’ll be asleep until tomorrow,”
commented Sergeant Green. “Don’t wake me unless it’s the end of the
world about to happen, or if I’m getting sex.”

“Shut up,” said Corporal Ceausescu. “You get
nothing until you can grow back limbs like Private Washington.”

“I’m not missing anything, am I?” asked
Sergeant Green, checking himself. “I really am glad to see you are
okay. You looked dead the last time I saw you.”

“Blah, blah, blah,” said Corporal
Ceausescu.

“Can I ask you something personal?” asked
Sergeant Green.

“Don’t get all mushy on me,” said Corporal
Ceausescu. “Not in front of a room full of legionnaires.”

“Don’t worry. I’m not going to say something
mushy,” said Sergeant Green. “When you were knocked out by the
blast, did you see a bright light?”

“Are you asking me if I had a near death
experience?” Corporal Ceausescu laughed. “Of course not. There is
no such thing.”

“I just wondered,” said Sergeant Green.
“Actually, I’m relieved.”

“I had a strange dream, though,” said
Corporal Ceausescu. “I dreamed God gave me beautiful white wings
and I flew to Heaven. But I woke up here.”

“No, no, no!” yelled Sergeant Green. “What
kind of shit is this?”

“You don’t like my dream?” asked Corporal
Ceausescu, put off. “Or you don’t like the hospital?”

“Neither,” said Sergeant Green. “Wake me when
the war is over. Next time, keep your dreams to yourself!”

“Don’t worry! I will!”

* * * * *

The spider wrecker driver pulled the Legion’s
armored car back onto its wheels and treads. The vehicle rocked
back and forth as the dust settled.

“Do you want me to tow your pretty armored
car back to my shop for repairs and a paint job?” asked the wrecker
driver. “I can hammer out those dents. I have a great new auto care
facility in East Finisterra. Will payment be cash or credit
card?”

“We will drive it as is,” I said. “The dents
give it character.”

“Yes, sir, the customer is always right,”
said the wrecker driver. “Anything for the Legion. I really
appreciate how you boys lay your life on the line for us, fighting
the insurgency and all. And I really appreciate the Legion paying
for my new shop.”

“Screw you,” I said. “The money for your new
shop came off my card. I’m going broke fighting the insurgency. No
one seems to appreciate that!”

“I love the Legion,” insisted the wrecker
driver. “Just keep that loco Lopez out of East Finisterra. We are
running out of buildings he hasn’t shot up yet.”

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 standing.

“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.”