America's Galactic Foreign Legion - Book 5: Insurgency (9 page)

Then General Kalipetsis called me on the
phone today to ‘chitchat.’ He asked if there was anything new. When
I failed to complain about my indoor jungle dying, General
Kalipetsis mentioned how much he admired my office plants, and
asked about where I bought them. He said he wanted plants just like
mine for his office at Legion Headquarters in New Phoenix. I told
General Kalipetsis that I was admiring how well my plants looked as
we spoke. He abruptly hung up.

I rushed to the New Gobi Nursery to buy
replacement plants before General Kalipetsis’ next inspection tour.
I didn’t want to give General Kalipetsis the satisfaction of
knowing his evil plot to kill my office plants succeeded. There
will be payback. Someday Kalipetsis will pick teeth out of his
beard.

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Chapter 11

David Torres entered the Blind Tiger Tavern,
played a few hands of blackjack, and left. As Torres mounted his
dirt bike, he nodded to three insurgents out front. Two humans and
a spider quickly entered the Blind Tiger. They threw grenades at
the customers, then escaped through the smoke and chaos. As
deputies, legionnaires, and ambulance crews arrived, a car bomb
exploded out front.

Five minutes later, David Torres joined
Desert Claw and other insurgents at the First Colonial Bank of New
Gobi. They entered the bank, pointing assault rifles and demanding
cash. Two minutes later, they were speeding away on dirt bikes
through the streets of New Gobi with their loot.

Video identified David Torres and Desert Claw
as participants in today’s bombings and robbery. I ordered Private
Barker to my office for questioning.

“I told you they were plotting bank
robberies,” said Private Barker. “Did you beef up security at
banks? No, that would be too simple.”

“Where do you think they are hiding now?” I
asked.

“Renting a safe house is no problem. They
could be anywhere. Torres and Desert Claw have used the Miranda
homestead, but I doubt they will return there soon. It’s too hot.
Even so, I would place monitoring devices at the homestead, just in
case they pass through.”

“Our deal for your amnesty was for you to
kill Torres and Desert Claw. I still require that. You should have
killed them both when you had the chance.”

“I don’t go on suicide missions,” replied
Private Barker. “What is the real reason I was not executed? I
haven’t quite figured that out yet.”

“It has taken all the self restraint I
possess to have not shot you a long time ago,” I answered. “General
Kalipetsis wants you alive. He still thinks it is important to fill
the Legion with local talent.”

“I’ve never met General Kalipetsis,”
commented Private Barker. “I doubt he is my guardian angel.”

“Don’t worry,” I said. “You will die soon
enough. This is the New Gobi. It’s easy to die here.”

“Not to change the subject, but I was
inspired by your speech to the battalion,” said Private Barker. “It
made me want to rush out and reenlist. I had no idea you could be
so charismatic.”

“You will report to Sergeant Green,” I said,
ignoring him. “Sergeant Green will be leading a platoon to stake
out the old Miranda homestead, just as you suggested. Stay alive,
private. You are special to me.”

* * * * *

A few days later, I got a note in the mail
from the insurgency: ‘Next time we bomb the Blind Tiger, we will
take out several city blocks, too. The Fist and Claw work together
now.’ A similar note was passed to the media. Phil Coen, from
Channel Five World News Tonight, called me for a comment from the
Legion. “Colonel Czerinski, what are the ramifications of human and
spider insurgents now working together?” asked Coen. “Does their
alliance make the insurgency any stronger? Are they twice as
deadly?”

“It just means the insurgents are desperate,”
I said. “They hate each other, but we have killed so many
insurgents, they have no choice but to pool resources. It won’t
last.”

“Some feel human insurgents are more vicious
than spider insurgents,” said Coen. “Is that true? Do human
terrorists target civilians more often?”

“You and I have both observed firsthand that
both groups hit innocent civilian and economic targets. There are
no good terrorists. Both groups are coldblooded murderers.”

“Is the Fist and Claw just a local group, or
do they have global reach?” asked Coen.

“The Fist and Claw are basically bandits who
use the insurgency as a cover for their criminal activities. They
prey upon local sympathy for recruits, sanctuary, and logistical
support.”

“What about drug dealing?” asked Coen. “Some
say a narco-insurgency could finance itself and spread faster by
selling illegal drugs.”

“So far we are fortunate that only the Mafia
controls wholesale drug-dealing on New Colorado,” I replied. “The
Mafia is not inclined to share their profits.”

“What if the Mafia and the insurgents formed
an alliance?” asked Coen. “What if the Mafia used the Fist and Claw
for security and muscle? Wouldn’t that fuel narco-terrorism?”

“I do not respond to hypotheticals.”

“Oh, come on,” insisted Coen. “What would be
the Legion’s response?”

“I suppose I would have to bomb New Memphis,
again,” I said.

“Some say we need a political solution to the
insurgency,” suggested Coen. “Autonomy for certain regions of New
Colorado has even been mentioned. Have you tried to reach out to
establish a dialogue with insurgent leaders?”

“No, I have not,” I said. “But thank you for
floating that suggestion. I agree we need to approach this problem
from several different directions. I plan to reach out to the
insurgency soon.”

* * * * *

‘Operation Reach-Out’ involved detaining
anyone riding a dirt bike. Also, dirt bike sales and repair shops
would be watched. It had not gone unnoticed that insurgents were
using the mobility of dirt bikes to evade checkpoints and to escape
capture after terrorist attacks. Dirt bike motorcycles were perfect
for their new brand of hit-and-run tactics.

Captain Lopez and a squad of legionnaires sat
in an armored car down the block from a motorcycle shop. As he
watched customers through binoculars, three Hell’s Angels
approached.

“Why are you spying on us?” asked the biker
leader. “We haven’t done anything to draw heat from the
Legion.”

“I’m not interested in you,” replied Captain
Lopez. “I’m looking for insurgents on dirt bikes. I have reason to
believe some of your customers may be insurgents. Have you seen any
dirt-bikers come in recently, flush with cash?”

“Hey man, I’m not going to narc anyone off,”
said the biker leader. “You are bad for business. You need to
leave, now.”

Captain Lopez swiveled the machine gun turret
and fired a volley into the motorcycle shop. A small fire started
as customers fled the store.

“Now your customers have something to be
afraid of,” said Captain Lopez. “I am not the cops. I am the
Foreign Legion. You do not give me attitude, and you do not tell me
to move on!”

“Whoa!” said the biker leader, backing away
from the armored car. “I didn’t mean to upset you! I just meant I
wish you would come inside and talk a bit. We have donuts and
coffee. Cops like donuts; how about you? I’ll tell you if I see any
insurgents. Can’t we all just get along? It just looks bad and
makes me nervous for you to be eyeballing us all day long. Some of
our customers might have open traffic warrants and unpaid parking
violations.”

Captain Lopez showed the bikers photos of
David Torres and Desert Claw. “Have any of you seen these two in
your shop?”

“It’s wrong for you to ask us to narc on
fellow bikers,” commented the biker leader.

“These are not righteous bikers,” advised
Captain Lopez. “And I am not a narc.”

“You look like a narc,” commented one of the
bikers. “No offense. Are you wearing a wire?”

Private Wayne emerged from the armored car.
Being that Wayne still rode with the Hell’s Angels on weekends, he
was instantly recognized.

“Did one of you call us narcs?” asked Private
Wayne, drawing his large jagged combat knife. “Which one of you
said that?”

“All we’re saying is we can’t narc on our
fellow bikers,” said the biker leader nervously. “It’s a violation
of our code. You know that. It’s a matter of ethics.”

“You heard Captain Lopez,” said Private
Wayne. “Those scumbag insurgents aren’t righteous bikers. They’re
terrorists who bomb women and children. If you know anything about
Torres and Desert Claw, you had better tell us.”

“They bought dirt bikes here about a week
ago,” blurted out the biker leader. “When they come in for their
thirty-day limited warranty check and oil change, I’ll give you a
call. I promise.”

“You do that,” said Private Wayne. “Sorry
about the damage to your shop.”

* * * * *

“Did you see the news on TV Channel Five?”
asked David Torres. “Phil Coen says we could make big money
offering protection to Mafia drug traffickers.”

“The Mob does not need our protection,”
commented Desert Claw. “They have the Hell’s Angels on the
payroll.”

“Maybe the Mob needs our protection, and they
don’t know it yet,” said Torres. “The New Gobi is a dangerous
place. We can cover more area than the Hell’s Angels, and have
bigger and better guns. Plus, we practically own the DMZ, and
travel freely on both sides of the MDL.”

“Drug addiction is a disgusting human
weakness, an affliction I do not want to have anything to do with,”
advised Desert Claw. “Even your children fry their minds on blue
powder. Have your species no morals or common sense?”

“We both bomb people,” said David Torres. “So
don’t talk to me about morals. Besides, I’ve seen plenty of spiders
down at the Angry Onion Tavern snorting blue powder. Phil Coen says
the illegal drug trade is ten percent of New Colorado’s gross
national product. That is billions of dollars.”

“What?” asked Desert Claw. “It cannot
possibly be that much.”

“I’ve seen Saviano Juardo at the Angry
Onion,” said Torres. “The bikers brag that he brings in blue powder
every weekend. I’m going to offer Juardo our protection for the
entire New Gobi Desert.”

“What if Juardo refuses your offer?” asked
Desert Claw. “He does not need us. What about the Hell’s
Angels?”

“I’ll make Juardo an offer he cannot refuse,”
said Torres. “Have you seen those Hell’s Angels slobs? They’re fat
and weak. We can do a better job of protection than they can, any
day of the week.”

* * * * *

Torres and Desert Claw stood at the bar in
the Angry Onion Tavern, watching Saviano Juardo strutting about
like a rooster. Hell’s Angels bouncers kept drunks away from
Juardo’s table as he discussed business with several Hell’s Angels
leaders.

Since Saviano Juardo took over the Family’s
business after his Uncle Rudy’s death, he expanded into the New
Gobi. The potential for growth looked good. Immigrants arrived
every day. Saviano Juardo claimed his La Cosa Nuova – ‘The New
Thing’ – organization was meaner and leaner than the old-fashioned
La Cosa Nostra. He proudly traced his family line back to Camorra,
Italy, and to New Orleans, Louisiana. Juardo boasted he came from a
family of innovators.

Juardo went to the restroom alone. After all,
he had nothing to fear in this biker bar, among friends and
business associates. However, insurgents were waiting. They tasered
Juardo, bound him, and stuffed him through a window, out to the
parking lot. Torres and Desert Claw drove Juardo in a van to a safe
house on the edge of town for a private conversation.

“Do you have any idea who you are messing
with?” asked Juardo, angrily. “I am Saviano Juardo, Boss of Bosses.
You had better let me go, or you will draw heat like you have never
imagined.”

“Do you have any idea how painful it will be
if I cut off your testicles?” asked Desert Claw, drawing a razor
and looming over the wise guy.

“Okay, I get the picture,” said Juardo. “We
can work something out. What is this all about? Money? I have
plenty of money. Is this just a shakedown?”

“We are the Fist and Claw,” boasted Torres.
“This is about you selling drugs in our territory without our
permission or the benefit of our protection.”

“I have an arrangement with the Hell’s Angels
for protection,” said Juardo. “They have always been the local
muscle. Do you really want to mess with the Hell’s Angels?”

“After you left, we bombed the Angry Onion
Tavern,” said Torres. “The Hell’s Angels have been scattered and
told to leave New Gobi. We are your new business partners. We not
only will handle protection, but we will also assist in
distribution on both sides of the MDL.”

“Both sides?” asked Juardo. “How can you do
that?”

“The Fist and Claw travel freely throughout
the entire New Gobi Desert,” said Desert Claw. “Soon we will go
global.”

“If you have that kind of reach, we can
certainly do business,” said Juardo, greedily. They shook hands –
and claw. “But you had better be able to deliver. Talk is
cheap.”

David Torres turned to Desert Claw. “We just
became narco-insurgents,” boasted Torres. “Do you know what that
means?”

“Ka-ching!” answered Desert Claw. “Show me
the money, ka-ching!”

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Chapter 12

David Torres entered Walmart, looking for new
leather gear for dirt-bike riding. As he passed an ATM, a voice
called out, “Hello, David. How are you, this fine morning?”

Torres stared at the ATM. There was no one
else around. “Are you alive in there?” he asked.