Lieutenant Columbus (2 page)

“A graduate student doing research on Columbus
’
s last days found some interesting information that was, until now, undiscovered,” explained Boedecker. “Please read the last page.”

General Lopez carefully opened the fragile diary, turning to the end. Using a translator, Lopez read aloud the last dying words of Christopher Columbus, Admiral of the Ocean Seas. “Today General Manny Lopez, a conquistador of America
’
s Galactic Foreign Legion, offered to restore my respect, fortune, and youth. General Lopez sails the winds of time and knows the secret of the Fountain of Youth. General Lopez boasts a powerful America conquered the stars. As reward, and in appreciation of my great discovery of the New World, I am to trek the stars too. Destiny is to be seized, and I accept General Lopez
’
s gracious offer. God willing, I shall return triumphant. God bless and protect my family.”

“You have some explaining to do, mister,” threatened Agent Hobbs.

“What sort of sick joke is this forgery?” scoffed General Lopez, nervously sliding his hand down to his sidearm. “You cannot be serious!”

“The journal is authentic,” explained Boedecker. “We were hoping you could shed some light on history.”

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Chapter 1

My name is Colonel Joey R. Czerinski, Hero of the Legion, Butcher of New Colorado, Garrison Commander of United States Galactic Federation Foreign Legion troops at the Demilitarized Zone crossroads of New Gobi City, planet of New Colorado. All is good again in the galaxy. I plan to retire soon, living off my many investments.

Today, a young lieutenant stood in front of my desk, saluting, and presenting his orders, fresh from Officer
’
s Candidate School. “Lieutenant Christop
h
er Columbus?” I commented, chuckling as I scanned his file. “Born October Tenth. Your parents have a sense of humor.”

“My family is long dead, sir,” replied Lieutenant Columbus, stiffening as he gripped the hilt of his sword.

“I
’
ll bet you got into a lot of fights in school.”

“At the Academy, jokesters tormented me at their peril!”

“What
’
s with the sword?” I asked, alarmed at Columbus
’
s temper. “What is your accent? Italian?”

“Genoese,” answered Lieutenant Columbus, still agitated. “I am
from the
Republic of Genoa. As a legionnaire, I consider myself
Genoese-American. The Legion authorizes officers to carry a bladed weapon of choice. I choose my ceremonial sword over your puny combat knife any day.”

“You and Corporal Tonelli should get along fine,” I groused, never having heard of Genoese, but knowing enough Italians to recognize another wise guy.

“Never bring a sword to a gun fight,” interrupted Major Manny Lopez, my second in command. Lopez had been standing to the side, unnoticed until now. “It could be unhealthy. You carry a sword because you fancy yourself a conquistador, like the real Columbus?”

“You!” exclaimed Lieutenant Columbus. “We have met!”

“Not likely,” scoffed Major Lopez. “I was briefed before your arrival. You graduated last in your class, with a reputation for brawling. Welcome to the New Gobi Desert. Everything here bites, pokes, or stings. You should fit in well.”

“Thank you, fellow conquistador,” replied Lieutenant Columbus, his mood much improved as he shook hands. “I assure you, sirs, I am fully competent with all Legion weapons. My sword is for show. I feel naked without it.”

“We are glad to have you,” I said. “You arrived just in time. Tonight the battalion deploys to New Jellystone National Park. Scorpion bandits are poaching buffalo again. Ever since the scorpions found out Smokey the Bear isn
’
t real, their poaching is out of control. The Legion will put an end to that, once and for all.”

I gazed out my office window at Sergeant Williams and his forest ranger buddies loading top
-
secret anti-poaching equipment. Williams let out a rebel yell as the last crate was tossed into the back of an armored car.

“It is a cruel twist of fate that I am assigned to this vast ocean of desert
,” Lieutenant Columbus said
.
“
Like pirates, those scorpion savages cannot hide forever, and will face the rope or my sword. Colonel Czerinski, your Butcher of New Colorado reputation precedes you, and I am proud to serve under your command.”

“I get a lot of bad press.”

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Chapter 2

Major Lopez and Lieutenant Columbus rode lazily at the head of the column atop the turret of an armored car. The night air was refreshing. Columbus stared up at the unfamiliar constellations, then checked his GPS. “We approach Scorpion Valley, population ten thousand,” announced Lieutenant Columbus. “But I see no lights.”

“The scorpions live mostly underground,” advised Major Lopez. “They believe it is wrong to disturb the desert ecosystem with surface structures.”

“The desert is like an ocean, with its life underground,” commented Lieutenant Columbus.

“And a perfect disguise above,” agreed Major Lopez, humming a tune from antiquity.

“In the desert, you can
’
t remember your name,” added Lieutenant Columbus, thoughtfully. “Because there is no one to give you pain.”

“Stop!” interrupted the driver, Private Knight. “There are copyright laws at play. Have you no ethics?”

“That Knight is an odd duck,” groused Major Lopez. “Always has been. Too many concussions from IEDs.”

“You don
’
t remember our first meeting?” Columbus
asked Lopez
, ignoring Knight. “You were a general.”

“I got busted,” explained Major Lopez. “Politics rears its ugly head again. We have never met. I would have remembered a name like Christopher Columbus.”

“You wore five stars on your collar, and you sailed the winds of time.”

“Five stars, eh? That
’
s a good one!”

“You promoted yourself. It was faster that way.”

“You watch your mouth,” warned Major Lopez, grabbing Columbus by the front of his shirt. “I don
’
t know what you are about, but you are an odd duck, just like that fool, Knight.
”

“I seek gold so I can buy the Fountain of Youth,” replied Lieutenant Columbus, brushing Lopez back. “I will know the secret of your youth.”

“You want to live forever?”

“That is my goal,” boasted Lieutenant Columbus. “So far, so good.”

“No one lives forever,” insisted Major Lopez.

“I suppose you are right,” replied Lieutenant Columbus, looking up at the sky. “I will seize my destiny. And when I die, do not light candles. The stars are enough for me.”

“Another dreamer,” scoffed Major Lopez. “You
’
ll fit into the Legion just fine. Don
’
t let the New Gobi kill you first.”

At a crossroads stood the bright golden arches of McDonald
’
s, and a Texaco gas station. As vehicles lined up for fuel, legionnaires automatically dispersed to secure a perimeter. Lopez and Columbus pulled alongside the drive-up window of McDonald
’
s, first in line.

“Welcome to Scorpion Valley McDonald
’
s,” greeted a cheerful young scorpion clerk. “May I take your order, sir?”

“Where is everyone?” asked Lieutenant Columbus, only seeing desert about them. “Did they flee?”

“Asleep, I guess
,” the clerk answered. “
Graveyard shift is like that.”

“The scorpions live below the surface,” reminded Major Lopez. “A city lies all about us, with its life underground, and a perfect disguise above.”

“Stop!” warned Private Knight again. “I
’
ll have a Double Quarter Pounder with American cheese, and a large chocolate shake.”

“You can eat MREs, fool,” advised Major Lopez, dismissing the always hungry Knight. “We are searching for buffalo poachers,” he advised the clerk. “What do you know of poachers?”

“I haven
’
t seen no stinking poachers,” answered the young scorpion. “You don
’
t look like Smokey the Bear
’
s forest rangers. Where are your badges?”

“Don
’
t say it!” implored Private Knight, again.

“Badges?” asked Major Lopez. “We
’
re the Legion. We don
’
t need no stinking badges!”

“Are you going to order or not?”

“Fine,” replied Major Lopez, scanning the lighted menu. “I
’
ll have the Big N
’
Tasty Buffalo Burger with cheese, and curly fries.”

“Change my order to three Buffalo Chipotle BBQ Bacon Snack Wraps!” shouted Private Knight, still listening from the driver
’
s compartment below. “And you had better not spit in my food like you did last time, because I
’
ll be checking!”

“You
,
sir?” asked the scorpion clerk, motioning to Lieutenant Columbus.

“I am not much hungry. I will have a Venti, three-pump raspberry, three-pump white chocolate mocha, iced soy, no whip, light ice, and an order of fries. I am lactose intolerant. Are you sure you have not seen any buffalo poachers? Who supplies your meat?”

“Sir, we do not serve Venti. You need to go to Starbucks. It is down the road.”

* * * * *

After dinner and the posting of perimeter guards for the night, Lieutenant Columbus slipped out of camp for privacy and to study his GPS. There was gold in the surrounding hills, and Columbus aimed to seek his fortune. The last guard posting was Private Shaky Jake, a spider legionnaire. Columbus had already checked his file. “Private, you used to be a prospector?”

“I still am,” replied Shaky Jake, suspicious of all officers, especially human. “What is it to you, sir?”

“Are you familiar with the Lost Woodard Mine?” asked Lieutenant Columbus conversationally. “It is supposed to be located in these hills.”

“Everyone knows the story of the Lost Woodard Mine. Shops sell treasure maps for the mine to tourists.”

“But you prospected in these parts,” insisted Lieutenant Columbus. “Ever find any trace of gold?”

“No one has ever found gold in these hills. Legend has it that Old Bob
Woodard
came to town, spouting off about striking the mother lode, but the locals ate him. Old Bob never filed a claim in Scorpion City, so his sad story ends there.”

“You have searched for Bob
’
s mine. I know you have. You believe it is out there, waiting to be discovered.”

“How do you know my business? You only just got here, and I don
’
t like being spied on. You know nothing of the New Gobi Desert or the Lost Woodard Mine.”

“I know its approximate location, near Clinton Summit, on the shores of Monica Lake,” advised Lieutenant Columbus, patting his GPS. “But I need a native guide to get me through the bush.”

“Those hills are haunted by the ghost of Old Bob,” whispered Shaky Jake. “Many a fortune hunter has not returned, feared eaten by a vengeful Old Bob. Late at night you can see Bob
’
s campfire and hear the screams of his victims.”

“You are afraid of ghosts?” asked Lieutenant Columbus. Columbus lit a Cuban cigar as he gazed speculatively at a distant campfire. “Marauding bandits is more likely.”

“No one has ever found gold in these parts. What makes you think you can?”

“Old Bob found gold.”

“Bob was drunk, and his brain addled by the sun.”

“I will split the gold with you.”

“What do you know? Nothing, that
’
s what.”

“I have a nose for discovering gold,” bragged Lieutenant Columbus. “You would be surprised. I have always proven my skeptics wrong.”

“If we are to be partners, you will share more than a phony tale about following your snout to Bob
’
s gold. Come clean, human pestilence. Or has the sun addled your brain too?”

“Will you guide me through the hills?”

“What
’
s with the sword?” asked Shaky Jake, still sizing up the odd human pestilence officer.

“I always carry my sword. It is a part of me.”