America's Galactic Foreign Legion - Book 21: Breaking Very Bad (14 page)

* * * * *

As the Tarantulas received the kickoff starting the third quarter, the storm got worse. More bright flashes lit the skyline, followed by ominous thunder. The rain turn to clay-like mud falling from the sky, covering the field, players, and the stands. Slipping and sliding, a speedy Tarantula running back returned the kickoff for a touchdown.
Back at you!

Concerned about the raining mud, just to be cautious, I ordered Legion medics to pass out double doses of anti-radiation pills to Jackrabbit players and fans. As the mud fell, it seemed to favor spider players. They easily scampered over the wet clay, leaving the heavier human players in their wake.
What the hell?
It was soon 35-21, then 35-28.
Enough!
I was about to shoot someone. Major Lopez radioed me with an urgent message. “It’s World War 14. Where are you?”

“Still at the game. At this rate, we’re going into overtime.”

“Are you insane? That mud falling is radioactive fallout. Take cover in your command bunker. As soon as I can install the Howitzer adaptor kits, I’ll nuke North Gobi.”

“Not until my order!”

“If we wait, the element of surprise will be lost,” cautioned Major Lopez. “It’s a miracle we haven’t already been nuked by the spiders.”

“I have strategic reason for delay. It’s my rope-a-dopy spider plan.”

“Do you have money on the game?”

“I’m all in.”

“I knew it!”

“Do nothing until I give the green light,” I insisted. “I’ll fire a green flare across the DMZ. Understand?”

“No!”

“Major, trust me on this.”

“Yes, sir.”

* * * * *

The Tarantulas quickly scored again, tying the Jackrabbits at 35. The spider commander led a platoon of marine bodyguards across the field, interrupting play. He fired a pistol into the air to get my attention. “Czerinski! Are you nuts starting a war?”

“That’s a side issue,” I replied innocently. “I didn’t do it. No one has been nuked here, yet.”

“Only the presence of civilians at this game prevents a full-measured retaliatory strike from the Empire. Millions have already been nuked across the planet!”

“Not my problem,” I reasoned, recalling Daly’s earlier comment. “It’s not your problem, either. Do you have money on the game.”

“I bet on you human pestilence,” admitted the spider commander guiltily. “Through ATM intercepts, I found out you released New Gobi’s traitorous backfield from jail. This game should have been easy money, a sure thing. Somehow you tricked me!”

“It’s not over yet. Let’s agree to not nuke each other until the final score, or if the Jackrabbits don’t score on this last drive.”

“Deal, Czerinski. Then, you meet the Grim Reaper.”

* * * * *

The stadium and city lights went out, causing rumors about thermonuclear war to become more credible.
Stupid rumors.
The football field and players glowed in the dark due to mud-caked radiation, but play resumed. I addressed the crowd with another PA announcement for rumor control. “There is no truth to reports New Phoenix has been nuked. Remember War of the Worlds? It was just a radio show, but the naïve went crazy thinking Martians attacked. There’s no such thing as Martians, and if there was, they would have never got past Mars. Enjoy the game. As soon as it’s over, there will be another emergency drill. Proceed to the nearest air-raid shelter for free beer and crackers. I’m buying.”

* * * * *

At the start of the last drive, the Jackrabbits quarterback called a quick snap, running the ball up the middle for seventy-five yards to the goal line. With the clock running down, they lined up for the game-winning field goal. The ball was up, it was good.
Jackrabbits win!
General Daly immediately sent me an emergency flash text message. “A truce has been negotiated with the Empire. We taught those spiders a proper lesson about who is the dominant species in modern day America. Booyah! Stand down. Cease all hostilities.”

“Yes, sir.”

I forwarded Daly’s message to all residents of New Gobi City. A collective sigh of relief could be heard from fans leaving the game, followed by a victory cheer. Even the spiders seemed happy, shooting their rifles and setting off fireworks. One of them even rocketed a green victory flare high into the sky.

Damn.

Chapter 21

Lopez followed my orders regarding the green flare. After that unfortunately-timed nuclear exchange, things heated up really quick, pegging the rad meter. Bedlam ensued as New Gobi City was evacuated. In all the confusion, I found myself ‘out of pocket,’ probably assumed dead. It would be weeks before the rubble was cleared, and radiation levels would make it difficult to track my microchip. I dumped my helmet cam. Until the truth came out that I was still alive and kicking, I was sure Lopez would do some fancy back-pedaling to explain himself out of what had happened, and waste no time setting himself up to take my place as garrison commander.
Fine.
I was tired of it all and needed a little R&R anyway.

The city was now abandoned, and no one would be watching the secret underground bunker. The time machine seemed like a good bet to escape until everyone – especially General Daly – had a chance to cool down. Meanwhile, I could be gone for months, returning within hours of departing, and no one would really miss me.

With a fond
adios
to friends and enemies, I decided to take a little tour of the past. As I made my way to the bunker, Phil Coen stumbled out from a ruined building, looking disheveled and irritated.
Damn! Vacation plans foiled.

“You’re responsible for all this, Colonel Czerinski. I know it!”

I noticed Phil was without a camera crew and microphone. “Slumming alone, Coen?”

“You have sunk to a new low. Your Butcher of New Colorado reputation is well-deserved!”

“Can we do this another time? I’m a little busy right now,” I said, turning back toward the bunker.

“Have you no conscience, no shame?” screamed Coen.

I sighed. “What are you doing here?”

“Looking for answers. The truth. Admit it. You did this!”

I couldn’t shake Coen as he hammered me about what had prompted the nuclear exchange after the game. My window of opportunity to escape responsibility was closing fast. I threw out my hands. “Fine. What do you want me to say? What can I do to get you off my back?”

Coen seemed inconsolable. To get away from him, I was going to have to kill him or...

Instead of reaching for my pistol, I smiled. “Phil, you look like you could use a little vacation.” I grabbed his arm. “Come with me.”

“Take your hands off me! I’m not going anywhere–”

I pulled my gun. “Phil, I’m offering you a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. If you could meet any celebrity or icon from the past, who would it be?”

“What?”

“We’re going on a little trip. Top secret. You can’t tell anyone.”

“So, the rumors are true? It’s not just the drones that can watch events from the past. You can actually send
people
back in time?”

“And bring them from the past to our time – their future. Remember, you can’t say a word to anyone about this.” I rolled my eyes. I was telling this to a news reporter? What was I thinking?

Coen’s eyes lit up like a kid at Christmas. “Kennedy,” he said. “J.F.K.”

“What?”

“That’s who I’d like to meet. Before he became President.”

I nodded. At the same time, I could check in on Old Blood and Guts to see how he was doing. We’d sent General Patton back to Old Earth to his own era, more youthful and vibrant than ever, and I was curious to see what he was up to now.

* * * * *

After we’d arrived, Coen went his own way, agreeing to keep in contact so he wouldn’t get left behind if I decided we needed to leave in a hurry. Coen availed himself of the limited resources in this time period to make the most of his visit. Not that I cared. I had my own fish to fry at this retro clam bake. I learned Patton had decided to go for the gold and run for President – against J.F.K.

Considering the possibilities, I agreed it might be good to give America a technological shot in the arm, as well as a morale boost. Who better to do that than a powerhouse like General George Patton? He loved America and had seen the future. He knew what America would be up against, and he believed in giving his country a head start.

The issue of timeline came up. I remembered earlier failed efforts to curtail Major Lopez’s evil time twin, bent on changing the past to benefit America’s future. Was Lopez out there right now, lurking in the shadows somewhere, altering events?
Who cares? ‘Patton for President’ has a special ring to it.
Anyway, we’d already changed the timeline by plucking Patton from an early death in that German car wreck.
To hell with the timeline. America deserves to win, and win big.

As Patton’s campaign manager, I could help him win the presidency in a way no one else could. Having been his CO in the Galactic Foreign Legion, it didn’t take much for me to convince Old Blood and Guts I was the man for the job.

“Why not?” Patton conceded, comfortable in his family’s California estate. “Already events are in progress that I have little control over. You and your crew seem to have it all well in hand.”

I wasn’t sure what he meant by ‘my crew,’ but I eagerly took on the job of campaign manager, confident that I had the real ace up my sleeve with the time machine.

* * * * *

General Patton waited impatiently for the first televised presidential debate to begin. He smiled amicably for the cameras as aides applied powder makeup to stop sweat glistening on his head. Senator John F. Kennedy sat calmly a few feet away, reviewing notes.

“That Navy squid son-of-a-bitch rum-runner put his cock in a meat grinder this time,” grumbled General Patton. “And I’ve got hold of the handle.”

“Kennedy will play favorably to the cameras,” I whispered, trying to gently guide the man without insulting him. “Do not underestimate the Kennedy charm. He’s got movie-star good looks, and a silver tongue.”

“You think I’m afraid of that prissy bastard?”

“No, sir. I think you can roll over Kennedy same as you did the Nazis during the War. But, don’t underestimate the man.”

“I will be the next President. You know why? Because I want it more than anyone else.”

“You’re on in five minutes. Stick to the plan. Your maturity will prevail over his inexperience.”

“Everyone has a plan until they get hit. Someone get me a drink.”

“Sir, this is the most important day in your life,” I admonished prudently. “You need to focus so things don’t break bad.”

“Exactly. Get me some of Kennedy’s whiskey. I want to be at my best!”

* * * * *

ABC news anchor Phil Coen stood at the podium, ready to moderate the debate. He fit right into this blast to the past, managing in a few short months to snag himself a sweet spot on the ABC network news team.

His first question was to Senator Kennedy. “It’s no secret you two don’t like each other much, despite both being war heroes. Are your views for the future of America that different, or is it just a matter of style that would separate your presidencies?”

“Our differences go to the core of our essence,” explained Senator Kennedy. “I have proof Patton is part of a vast treasonous conspiracy to seize world power.”

“Are you calling me a Commie?” bristled General Patton. “You son-of-a-bitch!”

“What really happened at Roswell?” Kennedy shot back. “A cover-up, that’s what. Don’t try telling America those UFO sightings over Northern Michigan are just marsh gas, either.”

“The kook factor just got elevated,” quipped Coen. “Gentlemen, we’re getting off track.”

“You’re part of the conspiracy,” accused Kennedy, pointing at Coen. “I can prove it. Patton, his staff, and you all have tiny alien computer chips embedded in your buttocks. I’ve contacted the FBI. J. Edgar Hoover himself promised me to get to the bottom of your traitorous conspiracy!”

“You think that just because I propose to take America to the moon before those godless Mongol horde Russians, that I’m in cahoots with Martians?” asked Patton incredulously, playing to the audience. “Did you hit your head when you fell off your little boat?”

“My PT boat was cut in half by a Japanese destroyer!” replied Senator Kennedy indignantly. “Explain all the recent advances in technology – computers, microchips, and thorium energy.”

“American excellence and ingenuity, plain and simple. Deal with it.”

“You still haven’t explained that alien chip in your arse.”