Lieutenant Columbus (6 page)

I also built a ranger station, sanitary facilities for the miners, and a small store and tavern/casino. Being the local Legion commander, I retained ownership of the business franchise.

Boedecker went AWOL, disappearing into thin air.

I closely watched Lieutenant Columbus perform his routine duties. Columbus often paced the shore, questioning prospectors about whether they
’
d
found gold. Columbus ordered core samples taken along Monica Lake, finding nothing. He glared suspiciously at the ranger station. Occasionally, Columbus motored out to the island, but soon lost interest on that being the location of the Lost Woodard Mine.

I could not help but notice his camel, affectionately known as Hargundu. The beast followed Columbus everywhere. At night I spotted Hargundu break his tether
and
sneakily low
-
crawl into the supply tent
. When I went to investigate, I found him having
torrid sex with our mechanical Smokey the Bear. Sergeant Williams complained bitterly about the cost of dry cleaning Smokey. I suggested throwing the giant fur ball in Monica Lake to wash off the
camel
’
s residue
.

It was all I could do to restrain Sergeant Williams from shooting Hargundu. However, ever since receiving secretive hate mail texts about the camel,
which
I suspect
ed came
from the spider commander, I was determined to keep poor Hargundu alive.
Your enemies are
my
enemies
–
or allies
. W
hatever.

* * * * *

Lieutenant Columbus stood by the large bronze statue of Smokey the Bear flipping the bird to the spiders across the lake.
‘
Only You Can Prevent Forest Fires
’
warned the plaque.

“What kind of drivel is this about fire?” asked Lieutenant Columbus, checking his GPS. “My gold is under this bear.”

“Czerinski is screwing us,” agreed Shaky Jake. “Somehow he knows about the gold, and covered it with Smokey
’
s ass.”

Hargundu,
prone
to wander, mounted the
bronze statue
’
s
baby buffalo, humping like there was no tomorrow. Immediately a forest ranger rushed to save Smokey
’
s pet.
“Stop! It is a felony to desecrate national monuments!”

“Feel lucky it is not you that is the object of his affection,” replied Lieutenant Columbus. “How did Czerinski get a permit to build by the shore, when no one else can?”

“The Environmental Protection Agency forbids construction this close to migratory bird habitats,” advised Forest Ranger Ron Bogani, swatting Hargundu with a stick. The camel just humped faster, and seemed to be smiling. “The ranger station was built to facilitate the migration. Colonel Czerinski issued all the necessary permits.”

“I see.”

“Get your lewd camel off the baby
buffalo
!” exclaimed Ranger Bogani, now tugging at Hargundu. “Your evil camel leaves
corrosive
stains!”

“It all washes off with soap and wate
r,” advised Lieutenant Columbus
dismissively, but pull
ed
Hargundu off. “Bad camel, no biscuit!”

“It is illegal for livestock to be within one hundred yards of the lake. Next time you will be cited.”

“Hargundu is a Legion camel, exempt from local ordinances,” argued Lieutenant Columbus, leading Hargundu to his pen. “Mess with my camel, and you mess with the Legion!”

Lieutenant Columbus froze in his tracks, staring out across the water. Spider marines had erected the Arthropodan flag atop
Czerinski
’
s
Polack Island and tossed the
sacred
wooden cross aside
, leaving it floating
in the water.

“Your unholy trespass will be dealt with harshly, spider heathens!” shouted Lieutenant Columbus, shaking his fist. “In God
’
s name, I swear it!”

* * * * *

The crowd at Smokey
’
s Bar & Casino was a good mix of legionnaires, Scorpion City National Guard troopers, and miners of
all
species. I sat at a poker table, drinking, and waiting for players to show up. Lieutenant Columbus confronted me about the situation on Czerinski Island.
“Sir, spider marines invaded your island and erected their evil flag. Their insult must be avenged immediately!”

“Give it up, Columbus,” I replied, nursing my beer. “There is no gold under that lake.”

“This is not about gold, it is about honor. Spiders threw the Lord
’
s cross into the water.”

“First of all, those are not spider marines,” I explained. “They
’
re spider forest rangers, protecting waterfowl habitat per treaty. Ranger Ron is out there, too.”

“I saw Bogani at the bar earlier with Corporal Tonelli,” argued Lieutenant Columbus. “He is not guarding anything! Did you know the spiders changed the name of Czerinski Island to Goose Shit Island?”

“Those bastards,” I replied, slamming my fist on the table, spilling beer. “I
’
ll talk to the spider commander about that when he gets here for our poker game!”

“You do not care that aliens insult all we stand for by throwing a symbol of the Lord to the fishes?” asked Lieutenant Columbus, gripping his sword handle in frustration. “Is there no end to your appeasement?”

“I meant to talk to you about that. Crosses are not allowed on Forest Service property. It
’
s a separation of state and church issue, or whatever. It
’
s the law. I think it
’
s even in the Constitution somewhere.”

“That island is sovereign American soil. If you abrogate your duty to defend that soil, I will remove those spiders, and their sacrilegious flag, myself!” warned Lieutenant Columbus, storming off to find Forest Ranger Bogani.

“Keep your camel away from that baby buffalo statue!” I called out across the room.

“Hargundu did not have sex with that buffalo!”

* * * * *

Long after closing time, an explosion rocked the camp, drawing legionnaires and Scorpion City National Guard troopers to the scene. We found the mangled raised arm of the Smokey the Bear statue lying in the sand, with the one-fingered salute still raised and pointing accusingly across the lake at the spiders on Goose Shit Island.

Enraged, Major Desert-Sting of the Scorpion City National Guard ordered an artillery barrage of the island, sinking it. Hostilities were recorded on helmet cameras, and broadcast across the galaxy on the database news. Fortunately, the spiders did not retaliate in kind with airstrikes, because their commander was too drunk to wake up and did not care about fish cops anyway.
Only later did I learn that it was Lieutenant Columbus who had draped a satchel of explosives over the raised arm of the Smokey the Bear statue. Before I could formally reprimand him, I got a
call from General Daly.

“Damn it, Czerinski! What in hell are you doing? I turn on the TV news and see you using protected Canadian Geese and ducks for fucking target practice! What were you thinking? The Audubon Society complained to Congress, and the President himself called me. The man doesn
’
t like you anyway. You
’
re on his deep shit list, and I don
’
t need you causing me that kind of heat!”

“Sir, it was the Scorpion City National Guard, not me. The spiders blew off Smokey the Bear
’
s arm. The scorpions retaliated. They idolize Smokey.”

“What? Are you serious? Blew Smokey
’
s arm off?”

“The statue, not the real Smokey.”

“Oh, you had me for a moment, there. Good thing. Thought we might need to bring strategic weapons to bare, no pun intended.”

“No, sir.”

“The President talked to the Emperor, and we are not going to war, but damn it Czerinski, no more incidents! This is an election year!”

“Yes, sir.”

“Democrats are already raising a stink on Capital Hill about those damn birds. How in
h
ell do you sink a whole damn island?”

“Sir, it was not me. It was the scorpions.”

“First you blow up the damn dam, now the damn island. What next?”

“The spiders blew up the damn dam.”

“Christ
,
man, rebuild that damn island, or else!”

back to Table of Contents

Chapter 6

I refused to spend any more money on Smokey
’
s statue, so I reattached the
arm with the
one
-
fingered salute with duct tape.
Ha! Another use for duct tape.
The disfigured statue became something of a tourist attraction, a symbol of Smokey
’
s defiant resistance to reckless spider attacks on the ecosystem. I roped off the statue and charged for tourists to touch Smokey for luck before entering my casino.

No longer encumbered by treaty
,
the Environmental Protection Act, and forest rangers on their side of Monica Lake, the spiders built permanent structures all along the shoreline. Disgruntled miners on the American side, still living in tents, complained, forcing me to relax the building ban and issue permits. Soon Monica City was born.

I established a border crossing checkpoint on the dam. No matter how much I hate
d the
spiders, we were at peace and
,
per treaty, free trade
wa
s encouraged. I assigned Corporal Guido Tonelli to work out of a guard shack halfway across the dam to diligently check commerce and search for contraband and terrorists.

The spiders established their own checkpoint facing ours.

* * * * *

A spider marine
working the checkpoint
approached Corporal Tonelli.
“Guido, you old human pestilence. How
’
s it hanging, old pal, old friend of mine? How does it feel to be the dam police?”

“Shut up,” answered Corporal Tonelli. “How am I supposed to make money
,
stuck on this damn dam all day?”

“That reminds me. I want to bet five thousand credits on Florida winning the Cotton Bowl. I got a good tip from Ranger Ron. Go
G
ators!”

Guido dutifully recorded the wager into his pad. “You
’
re not betting on pro games? Seattle is going to kick butt again. It
’
s in the bag.”

“I prefer the enthusiasm of college athletes,” advised the spider marine, knowingly. “Chomp, chomp, go
G
ators!”

“What were you saying about Ranger Ron? I talked to Bogani at Smokey
’
s just last night, and he didn
’
t say anything to me about inside info on Florida.”

“Bogani knows a friend of a friend of a friend of a fishing buddy who says it
’
s a lock that Florida easily beats Texas. I am all in.”

“Bet on the Gators?” asked Guido, dubiously. “The experts say take the Longhorns, and the points.”

“Speaking of
G
ators, are there any of your Old Earth reptilian water monsters in the lake?” asked the spider marine, peering cautiously over the dam edge. “Inquiring minds, and my commander, want to know.”

“Just the Giant Newt. They
’
re not dangerous, and
they
hang out in the swampy shallows on the right bank. I don
’
t think newts even have teeth. They just like to float and blow bubbles.”

“How do newts taste?”

“Kind of blubbery I suppose. I don
’
t recommend eating newts. They
’
re on the Protected Species List. Like the dinosaurs, once newts are gone, the
y’re
gone forever.”

* * * * *

I
ordered
ore pilings from the mines to
be used to
rebuild Czerinski Island, and assigned Lieutenant Columbus and his camel to guard it. Columbus took
P
rivate Shaky Jake with him.