America's Galactic Foreign Legion - Book 5: Insurgency (18 page)

The marine team leader looked at his cards.
Three aces. It was the best hand of the entire night.
Figures,
he thought, throwing the cards down. “The nuke is
safe under the table,” replied the marine team leader, as he
removed his feet from atop the nuke. “It is about time someone
showed up to take it.”

“Assist the commander in loading the nuke
into his truck,” ordered the duty officer.

The three marines carefully picked up the
nuke and carried it through the doorway. As they passed the
entrance, the team leader bumped against the sidewall. Jarred by
the impact, the team leader lost his grip on the nuke. The bomb
slipped from his hands and crashed to the floor. They all stared at
the team leader in disbelief.

“Do not worry,” said the team leader. “The
nuke is a dud.”

“Let us not take unnecessary chances,”
suggested Desert Claw. “Be more careful, you fool!”

“It is a dud,” repeated the team leader. “I
was there when the human pestilence tried to bomb the Emperor. Just
before the human heaved the nuke at the limousine, he repeatedly
pushed this button. But the button does not work. See?”

To prove his point the team leader pushed the
button. It was a fatal mistake for all present.

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Chapter 20

An insurgent website on the database reported
that Desert Claw martyred himself by exploding a nuclear bomb at
the governor’s mansion. The insurgents promised that Desert Claw’s
selfless example would inspire more martyrs in the struggle to free
New Colorado from imperialist rule.

Also killed were the spider Governor of the
North Territory, the Supreme Commander of the New Gobi, the
Arthropodan Fleet Commander, terrorist suspect Laika Barker,
Intelligentsia Investigator #4, several insurgent prisoners, and
the entire mansion garrison. The Legion encampment a mile away
escaped major casualties. Fortunately, the President and the
Emperor had just left for New Memphis to spend the night at Queen
Rainbow’s parents’ home.

General Kalipetsis was released. Treason
charges were dropped due to lack of evidence. He was reduced in
rank to captain for being negligent in his duties. Captain
Kalipetsis seemed happier, saying he looked forward to field duty
and the freedom of open spaces. He also promised to out-drink his
men at the grand opening of the new Angry Onion Tavern.

I lost my wager on Lieutenant Barker’s life
by about nine days. Now I am almost broke, and seriously
considering reenlistment in the Legion. Valerie refuses to speak to
me, and only sends text messages to remind me to feed Fuzzy. I miss
her. I hate the silent treatment.

The cemetery I bought in New Memphis has
turned out to be profitable. Business is not dead. Brain imprint
memorials have not caught on yet on New Colorado because of the
high expense. I suppose it takes time for new ideas and concepts to
take hold. Valerie manages the accounting for my cemetery business.
That and her cat Fuzzy keep her occupied.

I am now a member of the New Memphis Rotary
Club and the New Memphis Chamber of Commerce. This domestic life is
killing me. Tonight, for diversion, I plan to pick a fight at the
Angry Onion Tavern. I’m hoping Captain Kalipetsis will be there,
too.

* * * * *

Another company of legionnaire recruits
arrived in New Gobi City for deployment. Their company commander
waited outside my office to speak to me.

“What shall I do with them?” asked Major
Lopez. “MDL fence patrol?”

“Send them out to search for roadside bombs,”
I suggested. “It will be good experience for them to know and find
out first-hand that the New Gobi wants to kill them. We need to
constantly fight complacency, or the troops will get soft.”

“I’ll let their company commander inside so
you can brief her and relay the good news,” said Major Lopez,
opening the door to the waiting room.

“Lieutenant Smith reporting for duty, sir!”
announced a blond female second lieutenant. She wore her hair in a
bun under her beret cap. This new officer looked a lot like
Valerie, except maybe younger, with more muscle tone.

“You are Lieutenant Valerie Smith from
Virginia?” I guessed.

“Yes, sir!” said Lieutenant Smith, still
standing at attention and waiting for my return salute. “I am from
Arlington, Virginia. How did you know?”

“This is a joke, right?” I asked, returning
her salute. I did not expect her to say yes. “This had better be a
joke, because you are not Valerie. You look kind of like her, but
you are not her!”

“Sir?” asked Lieutenant Smith.

“Do you have any relatives in the Marine
Corps?” I asked. “Any buried at Arlington National Cemetery?”

“Lots,” said Lieutenant Smith. “Is there a
point to these questions?”

“Just that I think your
great-great-great-grandmother wore combat boots and still looks
good,” I said.

“Sir, I want to prove myself in my first
command,” said Lieutenant Smith. “But your questions are out of
line. This is sexual harassment.”

“I don’t blame you,” I said. “I don’t expect
you to tolerate abuse, either. Let me explain. I once visited an
imprint memorial for Lieutenant Valerie Smith, USMC, at Arlington
National Cemetery. I fell in love with her, kind of.”

“You’re the one she talked about!” said
Lieutenant Smith, coming around my desk and giving me a hug and
kisses. “I talked to Valerie’s memorial for hours and hours. She
encouraged me to join the Foreign Legion just so I could someday
meet you. Valerie really thinks the world of you, even if she is
still giving you the silent treatment.”

“You know about that?” I asked. “If we got
back together, what would that make you? Some kind of shirt-tail
niece?”

“It could get complicated,” conceded
Lieutenant Smith, giving my knee a squeeze as she released me from
her hug. “I have heard so much about the Angry Onion Tavern. I saw
a sign about a grand opening. Will you please be my escort tonight?
Be my date at the grand opening?”

“Of course, I would love to,” I said. “But
I’m still getting into a bar fight later.”

* * * * *

Walt hitchhiked into New Gobi City, hoping to
find familiar friendly faces. A banner across Main Street read,
‘Welcome to the Grand Opening of the New Angry Onion, the biggest
little biker bar on the Gobi.’ Walt entered the New Angry Onion
with high expectations. It was just as he had imagined. Immediately
he saw Corporal John Iwo Jima Wayne sitting at the bar. The spider
was easily the largest spider in the tavern.

“Hello John,” said Walt, as if he was talking
to a long-lost friend. “Can I buy you a drink? You are one of my
favorite characters.”

“I do not know you,” said Corporal Wayne,
drawing his knife and pressing it under Walt’s chin. Don’t go away
mad, just go away, human pestilence.”

Walt hastily moved down to the end of the bar
and ordered a drink. A yellow cat walking on the bar top rubbed
against Walt’s hand. “Fuzzy!” he said. “If you are here, it means
Valerie is close by. Valerie! If you can hear me, I think you are
so hot!”

Fuzzy knocked a beer bottle over, spilling
Coors beer all over Walt’s lap. “Fine,” said Walt, moving on. “I
can take a hint.”

Walt spied Sergeant George Rambo Washington
passing by, and reached out to grab him by the arm. “George! Are
your wives with you tonight? How’s it hanging?”

“My wives are no longer working girls,”
replied Sergeant Washington, angrily. “Leave them alone!”

“You misunderstand,” said Walt. “I met your
wives in church, at the potluck. I love their ho-made pudding goo”
He giggled at his own seemingly clever double entendre.

“Oh,” said Sergeant Washington, calming down.
“Has Pastor Jim been in here yet? I hate it when he checks on his
flock. He sees somebody he knows, and it immediately puts him into
Sunday sermon mode. Then he blabs to everyone during Sunday
services.”

“No, but if I see him, I’ll give you a
warning,” promised Walt, now seeing Colonel Czerinski and Major
Lopez playing poker with a group of spider officers. He staggered
over to get a better look. Lieutenant Smith was seated on
Czerinski’s lap, hugging and kissing him.

“Colonel Czerinski, I am so glad you finally
hooked up with Lieutenant Smith,” said Walt. “I had hoped you
would. You two make a nice couple.”

“Who are you?” asked Colonel Czerinski.

“I am a world-famous science-fiction author,
and your best friend. I am responsible for everything that has ever
happened to you. Is Valerie’s imprint here, helping you with the
poker cards again?”

The spider officers threw down their
cards.

“Would someone please beat this fool to
death?” asked Colonel Czerinski, loudly. He glanced angrily at his
cards.

Private Krueger sucker-punched Walt, knocking
him to the floor. Sergeant Williams let out a rebel yell from
across the room and threw a vodka bottle at the downed world-famous
author. Walt got back up and hit Private Krueger with a chair.
Spider biker bouncers immediately shot a web over Private Krueger
and Walt, and beat them to the floor with nightsticks. Both were
strung up and hung upside down from the ceiling in web cocoons.
Walt was dazed, not believing this could ever happen to him. Soon
afterward, Private Camacho came over to talk to Krueger. “Guido
says you promised to pay back your loan by today,” said Private
Camacho, checking Krueger’s wallet. “Do you have it? Say yes,
because I don’t want to have to hurt a fellow legionnaire.”

“No, but my friend does,” said Private
Krueger, motioning to Walt.

“How about it?” asked Private Camacho. “Do
you want to pay off Krueger’s marker?”

“Okay,” said Walt. “How much does he
owe?”

“Three thousand eight hundred forty-nine
dollars and thirteen cents,” said Private Camacho, as he went
through the world-famous author’s wallet. “But because of late
payment and interest, I’m going to round this debt off to four
thousand. Check that. I’m rounding it off to five thousand. Thank
you for helping out a legionnaire. You’re a good man and a
patriot.”

“Hey!” yelled Walt. “That’s my life’s
savings! Come back! Do you think I can just print up more money
anytime I want? I’m broke now!”

Two spider biker babes, attracted by the
commotion, stopped to check out Private Krueger and Walt, hanging
from the ceiling. One of them pointed. “That’s the one. That is
Walt. He is supposed to be a world-famous author of science
fiction.”

“He seems kind of skinny to be a world-famous
author,” said the other spider biker babe. “Are you sure? Looks
like a pervert to me. See how his lip twitches? Don’t ever trust
any human pestilence who has a mustache.”

“I am positive,” said the first spider biker
babe. “He’s actually kind of cute for a hairball human
pestilence.”

“I think he is hot,” said the other spider
biker babe. “I want him. I cannot wait!”

“I saw him first,” said the first biker babe,
poking at Walt. “Are you really a famous science-fiction writer? I
have never had a celebrity before.”

“This will be my fifth book,” said Walt. “Cut
me down, and I’ll autograph a copy for you.”

“We are going to take you home with us,” said
the spider biker babe. “I hope you have a strong heart, because
this will be the most sexually-charged, terrifying night of your
human pestilence life. How is your stamina, Mr. World-Famous
Author? Do you feel
up
to it?”

“I was born for this very moment,” replied
Walt, hoping bravado and blue pills would see him through his
predicament. “I’m going to tear you up!”

The two spider biker babes giggled. They
stopped briefly at the bartender cashier to pay for booze to go,
propping Walt up against the bar. A familiar voice called out to
him. “I heard you are short on funds,” said an ATM next to the bar.
“If you survive tonight, come talk to me about a loan.”

“No way,” said Walt. “I am not going to join
the Foreign Legion for any puny enlistment bonus.”

“Then what are you going to do for money?”
asked the ATM. “The New Gobi Desert is tough on people with no
money.”

“I don’t know,” said Walt. “Maybe I’ll ask my
publisher for an advance on my next book.”

“Ha!” laughed the ATM. “Lots of luck with
that! Hell will freeze over first before Penumbra Publishing loans
you any money. At least the Legion is paying a premium enlistment
bonus to qualified applicants. I think you could be officer
material. I see bright things in your future. I see fun, travel,
and adventure.”

“Shut up, fool!” said one of the spider biker
babes, kicking the ATM. “Do not be bothering my cute little honey
hairball. You will just distract him. My hot little fuzz-ball needs
to be focused tonight!”

The spider biker babe tucked Walt under her
arm and left with her sister. The two females whispered and giggled
all the way to their apartment about what they were going to do to
Walt.

World-famous science-fiction author Walt
surfaced about a week later. He was hospitalized briefly for
dehydration and fatigue. Later, he proudly enlisted in the United
States Galactic Federation Foreign Legion, and is currently posted
to the DMZ, fighting insurgents.

###

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~ABOUT THE AUTHOR~

Walter Knight

Walter played football on Tucson High
School’s last state championship team (1971). He served three years
in the army, and the GI Bill paid for his college education,
helping him earn degrees from Fort Steilacoom Community College,
Central Washington State College, and the University of Puget Sound
School of Law.