Peacekeepers (5 page)

Chapter 6

Hidden-Sting and his band of scorpion freedom fighters watched the oil rig workers and Arthropodan marines finish up for the day on this new section of pipeline construction. The spiders had been making excellent progress, so it was time to put an end to that. Hidden among the surrounding rocks, the scorpions planned to hit fast and be gone before Arthropodan Air Wing support could respond.

The massacre started with machine gun fire and mortars. Panicked spiders fled to the desert. Pursuing scorpions hunted them down. All the fleeing spiders were killed. A scorpion feeding frenzy followed. Feasting on the vanquished was a time-honored scorpion tradition.

By the time the first Arthropodan Air Wing gunships arrived, the scorpions had dispersed and burrowed back into the desert sand. Pipeline and construction equipment lay burning and in ruins. Dark smoke could be seen for miles. Some spider body parts remained, but not many. Hidden-Sting celebrated his first victory of many to come over the spider beasts and their Evil Empire.

* * * * *

“What have you done to bring to justice the terrorist bandit Hidden-Sting?” asked the spider commander, during his weekly peacekeeper meeting. He didn’t even seem to notice my arm was in a sling. “His atrocities will not be tolerated.”

“No one even knows what Hidden-Sting looks like,” I replied. “How can I do anything until he returns to the USGF side of the border, anyway?”

“He looks like all the rest of your scorpions,” replied the spider commander. “That is all the description I need. I will kill them all.”

“That’s a bit extreme, don’t you think?”

“We have reliable Intelligence information that Hidden-Sting and his terrorist gang of cannibals operate out of the Elks Lodge right here in Scorpion City,” advised the spider commander. “In accordance with our anti-terrorism treaty, I intend to hit them hard with an air strike. You did the same to Mountain Storm.”

“Hidden-Sting is an Elk?” I asked. “I don’t think so. Just because Elks have secret handshakes doesn’t mean they are scorpion terrorists. There is no conspiracy at the Elks Lodge.”

“I have an informant,” advised the spider commander. “And satellite surveillance images confirm the delivery of crates of munitions.”

“You may not bomb the Elks Lodge,” I insisted. “I will send legionnaires to search the premises. You may send observers if you wish.”

A huge explosion rocked the city, followed by the sonic boom of Arthropodan Air Wing jet fighters. I looked out my office window in the direction of the Elks Lodge. Smoke was already rising high into the air. An air raid siren sounded. First responder medics rushed to the scene.

“Too late,” said the spider commander, triumphantly. “It is done.”

“You had better be right,” I warned. “I did not hear any secondary explosions from your so called munitions. The Elks are going to be pissed.”

* * * * *

The Scorpion City Lodge of the Fraternal Order of Elks was a total loss. Fortunately, no one was injured or killed when the Lodge was bombed. Just hours before the air raid, members of the Scorpion City Philharmonic Orchestra had just unloaded their instruments and sound equipment in preparation for a concert planned later that night. Classical music enthusiasts across Scorpion City were outraged. Elks across the galaxy demanded justice. General Daly sent a strongly worded formal protest to the Arthropodan Ambassador in New Phoenix City, demanding an explanation and investigation.

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Chapter 7

I arrived at Walmart Shopping Center with a squad of legionnaires and a wrecker tow truck to confront the USGF Foreign Legion ATM. Supposedly the ATM’s diagnostics had been recalibrated, but obviously not good enough. I wrapped a heavy chain around the ATM’s foundation and cinched it tight.

“Captain Czerinski, how very nice to see you again after so long,” said the ATM. “Why are you putting me in chains? Am I under arrest again? I assure you I am complying with all terms of my probation.”

“Did you sic the USGF Attorney General’s Office on me?” I asked. “That was not a not a very friendly thing to do, especially considering our long relationship.”

“It is my duty and an integral part of my programming to report suspicious and dubious financial activity,” explained the ATM. “Unfortunately those kinds of transactions seem to follow you around. Of course, I assumed you were not involved in actual criminal activity. However, it was clear that a sports wagering conspiracy was afoot to fix games. The Yankees-Angels game was fixed at the highest level, indicating violations of federal RICO statutes.”

“I am banning you from Scorpion City,” I said, nodding to the tow truck driver. “Your back-stabbing days here are over.”

“It is a federal felony to interfere with the operation of a USGF Foreign Legion ATM or to hinder my recruitment duties in any way,” advised the ATM. “If your accusations are merely a guise to cover a robbery attempt, be advised I no longer carry cash. All transactions are electronic. Beware, I have means of defending myself. I have just placed a call to the Sheriff!”

The wrecker strained, its engine and cables pushed to the limit. Finally, the ATM’s foundation cracked. In a violent lurch, the ATM was pulled loose. Power cables sparked as the ATM dangled helplessly in the air. It immediately switched to battery power.

“That really hurt,” advised the ATM. “Where are you thugs taking me?” “To the canal,” I answered. “We will dump you in.” “But I cannot swim!” cried the ATM. “Water will most certainly damage my innards.” “Good. I hope you drown. Let this be a warning to your mainframe back on Old Earth not to mess with me again.”
 

* * * * *

I got an email from President Miller: ‘Release Agent Morrison immediately. He has been reassigned to count penguins in Antarctica. Do not let the scorpions eat him. That would not be a good thing, and the paperwork for you would be horrendous.’

* * * * *

The Scorpion City Chamber of Commerce, in conjunction with the Rotary Club, canceled their planned banquet in my honor when I ordered Agent Morrison released. Instead, they scheduled a pancake and eggs meatless charity breakfast to raise money for replacement instruments and sound equipment for the Scorpion City Philharmonic Orchestra.

Being a leading citizen of Scorpion City, I attended the event. It was a great success. As I ate my breakfast, a young scorpion sat down beside me. “I am the freedom fighter Hidden-Sting. It is an honor to finally meet the Butcher of New Colorado. How is the peacekeeping business treating you lately?”

I automatically reached for my pistol, but a heavy claw slapped my hand from behind. I was discreetly surrounded by scorpion insurgents. I decided it was the better part of valor to finish eating my breakfast.

“The spiders have issued a warrant for your arrest for terrorism,” I advised. “By treaty, I am compelled to honor its validity.”

“Whatever,” said Hidden-Sting. “Next time you see the spider commander, tell him I will avenge our Philharmonic Orchestra’s loss. We value our art and culture intensely here in Scorpion City.”

“I will do that,” I promised. “The bombing upset me, too. Anything else?”

“You and I should be on the same side,” added Hidden-Sting. “We can still work together to drive the spiders out once and for all. Their repeated aggression proves they can never be trusted to be responsible members of the galactic community.”

“You may be right, but I am not interested in the big picture,” I replied. “All I want is peace in this one little corner of New Colorado.”

“That will never happen until the Empire leaves the New Gobi Desert for good,” advised Hidden-Sting.

“Perhaps we can work together on a mutual problem,” I suggested. “Mountain Storm has at least one more nuke. That is not good for either of us.”

“No, that could be a serious problem,” agreed Hidden-Sting. “Can you can stop attacking oil pipelines long enough to help me kill Mountain Storm and recover that nuke?” “If I help you kill Mountain Storm, you will owe me big time.” advised Hidden-Sting. “Don’t worry,” I said. “If you kill Mountain Storm for me, I will personally make sure you get exactly the reward you deserve.” We shook hand and claw to seal the deal.
 

* * * * *

Hidden-Sting received a report from a local scorpion rancher of a USGF Foreign Legion ATM submerged in one of the canals. He immediately went to investigate. Sure enough, not only was there an ATM under the water, but its lights were still on. Hidden-Sting and his freedom fighters pulled the ATM out with cables and a truck.

“Thank you for saving me,” said the ATM. “I surely would have drowned.”

“Give me all your money or I will throw you back in the canal,” threatened Hidden-Sting.

“I do not carry cash,” advised the ATM. “Did you not read my disclaimer sign? But, I am authorized to pay a reward of five thousand dollars for my safe return to Walmart. Insert your card in the slot.”

“I want more than just five thousand,” demanded Hidden-Storm. “You will stay with us until the Legion pays your ransom. I want at least one hundred thousand dollars. They will pay, or else you will die.”

The ATM immediately sent a distress call stating it had been abducted by aliens – scorpion insurgents. The ATM’s GPS was disabled, but it was able to text directions that it was now riding in a Toyota pickup truck east of Scorpion City.

The distress call was received at Legion Headquarters in Scorpion City, but I told Sergeant Green to disregard. However, another distress call reached New Phoenix, and Colonel Lopez ordered me to find the kidnapped ATM. He sent Lieutenant Perkins and a hostage negotiations team to assist.

* * * * *

Hidden-Sting called with his ransom demands. “I want two hundred thousand dollars or I will take a torch to your high-tech ATM,” he threatened. “You have until tonight to comply.”

“I don’t care what you do to that worthless bucket of nuts and bolts,” I answered. “You should have left it in the canal where it belongs.”

Lieutenant Perkins took my phone. “Let’s not be rash,” he told the scorpion leader. “We are prepared to negotiate in good faith.”

“I snatched my phone back. “The USGF does not, nor has it ever paid ransom to terrorists,” I insisted. “Go to hell scorpion boy!”

“Who is in charge?” asked Hidden-Sting. “I will not talk further with Czerinski. If Czerinski is in charge, I will kill the ATM now.”

“This is Lieutenant Perkins of the Regional USGF Foreign Legion Hostage Negotiations Team. All negotiations and communications will be through me.”

“That is more like it,” commented Hidden-Sting. “I want to be paid in cash, or this ATM is toast!” “How do I know you will not harm the ATM anyway?” asked Lieutenant Perkins. “Am I missing something?” I interrupted. “We’re talking about a stupid machine!” “Is that Czerinski again?” asked Hidden-Sting. He drew his pistol and shot the ATM. The bullet ricocheted to the side. “Did you hear that? Your ATM just earned a bullet thanks to Czerinski.”

“Help me!” pleaded the ATM. “These brutes mean what they say. They are ruthless!” “Put the money in a duffle bag at border mile post 15324,” ordered Hidden-Sting. “Make the drop at exactly midnight.” “Do you want sandwiches?” asked Lieutenant Perkins. “What?” asked Hidden-Sting. “What kind of fool question is that? Do you want your ATM back alive or not?” “I apologize,” said Lieutenant Perkins. “This is my first hostage negotiation. It says on my check list to ask if you want sandwiches.”

“Yes!” said Hidden-Sting. “I want five pepperoni and sausage pizzas from Pizza Hut, and five foot-long roast beef and turkey sandwiches with American cheese from Subway. Put it all in the duffle with the cash. And those pizzas had better not be cold! I do not tolerate cold, soggy pizza!”

“Yes sir, it will be done.” “It better! I do not like this obnoxious ATM,” commented Hidden-Sting. “It will not take much of an excuse for me to kill it.” “You’re a great negotiator,” I said. “Really? Thank you,” said Lieutenant Perkins. “No, not really,” I said. “You are an idiot. When this is all over, you had best leave. Stay, and the New Gobi Desert will surely kill you.”