Peacekeepers

AMERICA’S GALACTIC FOREIGN LEGION

Book 10: Peacekeepers

Licensed and Produced through

Penumbra Publishing

www.PenumbraPublishing.com

ELECTRONIC EDITION

EBOOK ISBN/EAN-13: 978-1-935563-58-7

Copyright 2010 Walter Knight

All rights reserved

Cover Art: Starla Markham

Also available in PRINT ISBN/EAN-13: 978-1-935563-59-4

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, planets, asteroids, alien species, evil empires, galaxies far, far way, or future events and incidents, are the product of the author’s imagination, or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons or aliens, living or dead, events or locales including those on Mars and New Colorado, is entirely coincidental.

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~AUTHOR ACKNOWLEDGEMENT~

A Dedication to Bill Allin

My wife’s cousin, First Lieutenant Orlando ‘Bill’ Hardin Allin, Jr., of the 87
^th
Troop Carrier Squadron of the 438
^th
Troop Carrier Group, was twenty-two years old when, on the night of June 5, 1944, he flew a C-47 transport with a ‘stick’ of eighteen paratroopers of the 101
^st
Airborne over Normandy. His plane was the second of a three-plane formation that spearheaded the invasion of German-held France. Lieutenant Allin flew right wing for the 438 TCG Commander General Donaldson flying the ‘Belle of Birmingham.’ The planes were overloaded because of the extra ammo and gear taken aboard by each paratrooper. It took two assistants to load each paratrooper burdened with gear. Some paratroopers, weighted with gear, drowned in ponds that had not been detected by aerial reconnaissance. However, none of the paratroopers flown by the 438
^th
TCG suffered such a fate.

The squadron flew blacked-out at wave height across the English Channel to evade enemy detection, avoiding islands, then rose to seven hundred feet for the final run. Low cloud cover and poor weather obscured their view, but they maintained their formation and delivered the first airborne troops to engage the enemy and begin the liberation of Europe. Surviving heavy ground fire, they returned to England, loaded more paratroopers, and towed gliders for a daylight run behind the Utah Beachhead.

Lieutenant Allin made numerous paratroop drops and supply runs, including, under intense anti-aircraft fire, a drop to Bastogne three days before General Patton arrived. On another mission, he landed in fog with a load of wounded soldiers at an airbase on the Cliffs of Dover. Lieutenant Allin joked about his Dover landing, saying he almost became an enemy ace that day by narrowly missing parked British fighters before applying brakes on the slick runway and spinning the plane about to avoid going over the cliff.

Of course, these few words of tribute are not enough, and cannot come close to describing the terror of combat. Bill Allin is still alive, and has four adult children and a lovely wife. He is still healthy and very active. I ate dinner with Bill just this week.

I wrote this tribute because I believe we need to make efforts to remember the service of our heroes. Just today I was informed that the last WWI American Doughboy died at aged one-hundred-eleven. The last of our WWII heroes will be gone soon, too. I encourage others to talk to your fathers and grandfathers and record their service. Many want to tell their story, both for public history, and for private family histories.

These days there is a perception that Europeans, especially the French, do not remember or appreciate their liberation or American sacrifice. Wrong. “When the Germans came, they marched in singing. When the Americans landed, the Germans left crying.”

There are many other tributes, including the following by a French village mayor, of the smiling Americans who dropped from the sky. “To these shores came the sons and grandsons of Europe. Descendents of those who had left the Old World to find a better life in the New World. They returned to free their ancestral homes from tyranny. Many, so many, gave up their lives and their future so that we, our children, and grandchildren, might have a future. May we be worthy of the price paid by these gallant warriors.”

The Mayor of Sainte-M
č
re-Église, the first village liberated by the Americans, said it best. “We do not have the right to forget. Their example and their sacrifice must be forever imprinted in our memories. May they give us the strength, determination, and enthusiasm of their twenties, so that in our turn, today and for tomorrow, we can follow in their footsteps of courage, dignity, and moral duty.”

Because to this day there is still controversy about the D-Day invasion and some amount of argument among veterans regarding troop carrier squadrons, I want to address the matter. I am sure we have all seen Hollywood movies of D-Day, showing supplies missing their marks, and paratroopers dropped in the wrong place. The troop transport pilots trained extensively for D-Day, and their heroism and accuracy in flying is still a marvel to behold. They flew tight formations that night under harsh conditions, radio blackout, and enemy fire to deliver men and supplies. It is hard for me to imagine what those young pilots flying the planes, or paratroopers jumping out of the planes, were asked to do. I would like to think that I too would measure up if called upon by my country to do my duty, but I am not so sure. Such bravery, competence, and self-sacrifice is awe-inspiring, and I feel in their debt.

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AMERICA’S GALACTIC FOREIGN LEGION

Book 10: Peacekeepers

by

Walter Knight

Chapter 1

“You will paint your helmets blue,” ordered Colonel Lopez, addressing his men. “You are still legionnaires, but you are also now peacekeepers.”

“Blue?” I asked.

“Captain Czerinski,” replied Colonel Lopez, lording over us with his new rank, “do you have something to add?”

I commanded the garrison troops at the border town of Scorpion City, Planet of New Colorado. Scorpion City used to be nothing but a radioactive hot spot in the road along the DMZ, but had grown. Even Walmart had moved to town.

I used to command the whole New Gobi Desert Military District before I got demoted. Now Lopez was in charge, and he was not above rubbing it in. I intended to rub back! “Blue stands out,” I argued. “Why don’t we just paint big targets on our helmets for the snipers?”

“Your nose is a big target,” commented Colonel Lopez, sarcastically. “How about I paint a big target on that?”

“I worry about my nose getting shot off, too,” I continued. “That is why I don’t stick my nose where it does not belong. Why are we getting involved between the spiders and the scorpions in the first place? Let them fight it out. And while we are on the subject, how come
your
helmet isn’t blue?” My legionnaires grumbled and nodded in agreement.

“Because it is you who will be working at the border,” answered Colonel Lopez. “Not me. The blue helmet is
meant
to make you conspicuous. Being identified as a peacekeeper will protect you by garnering respect from both sides. Your job is to keep the scorpions and spiders from fighting. Most bugs respect that. Peace on the border is in everyone’s best interest.”

“Where will you be, sir? Will you be joining us?”

“Are you kidding?” scoffed Colonel Lopez, speaking just to me in a lower voice. “It is going to get dangerous here on the border, especially if you are wearing those goofy blue helmets. I will be back at my air-conditioned office at Headquarters, with my feet up on my desk, sipping iced tea.”

“Your brutal honesty is moving, sir. I have served with you since we were both privates. This is undoubtedly the stupidest idea you have come up with yet.”

“You think so?” asked Colonel Lopez, keeping his calm, but I could tell he seethed. “Tell me about it. Blue helmets are General Daly’s idea, so deal with it. You will follow orders, just like everyone else!”

Colonel Lopez left abruptly, tossing me a package of matching blue arm patches. Lopez was not happy with me smarting off in front of the men, but we had too much history for him to do much about it.
Deal with that!
Lopez had it coming after that ‘iced tea’ comment. I tried to read whether Lopez was really upset, but he had become increasingly stoic lately. He was still a punk. Oh well, life goes on ... for most. I picked up my helmet and starting painting it turquoise blue, with broad sloppy strokes. What else could I do? Other legionnaires followed suit.

* * * * *

During the last war, the spiders retreated all along the Northern Frontier, except at Scorpion City. Here, they dug in and fought like fanatics against the Scorpion City National Guard. Possibly the reason for the spiders’ tenacity was the fact that the scorpions ate their captives. Old-time honored habits and traditions died slowly, even though the Americanized scorpions were now a semi-autonomous part of the United States Galactic Federation. Also, the spiders were determined to fight because of recent valuable oil discoveries.

Scorpion separatists were equally determined to extend their control north of the border. A recent terrorist bombing destroyed Walgreen Drugs, rocking the spider side. Everyone knew retaliation was imminent. Most citizens were keeping off the streets. Their fears were justified. The Arthropodan Governor of the North Territory already agreed to a punitive strike by the local militia, thus avoiding direct involvement and the risk of a strain on diplomatic relations with the USGF. Construction on the scorpions’ new Walmart south of the border was nearly finished, and that human pestilence abomination would make a fine target.

* * * * *

The sign at the border-crossing checkpoint read, ‘Welcome to Scorpion City, An All-American Town.’ A sign facing the other direction warned, ‘You are entering the Arthropodan Empire. Obey All Laws.’ In between the signs, two guard shacks ominously faced each other. Barbed wire and a barrier lift-gate restricted movement to this narrow checkpoint.

Newly promoted legionnaire Corporal Guido Tonelli sat in his air-conditioned guard shack, savoring the relief from the stifling desert heat outside. His respite would be short-lived. Truck traffic across the border was constant, and it was Corporal Tonelli’s job to check and search all border traffic. A spider border guard interrupted Tonelli’s break with an abrupt knock on the big plate-glass window.

“Hey, Guido! I love those pretty blue helmets you human pestilence are wearing,” teased the spider guard. “Blue is a definite fashion statement. It is you for sure.”

“What do you want?” replied Guido, annoyed. “You better get over to your side of the border before you start another war. This place has enough radiation without that. One more war, and we’re all cooked. Read the no trespassing sign. There are no spiders allowed. You need a travel permit!”

“Aren’t you a stickler for the rules today,” taunted the spider guard. “I don’t need no stinking permit. Are you taking bets on the game yet?”

“No,” answered Guido. “The database is down. Are you spiders jamming our satellite signals again?” “Probably,” said the spider guard. “I will check on that for you.” “You guys are really becoming a royal pain.” “I’m getting off-duty in an hour. When your computer is back up, I want to place five thousand credits on the Yankees for tonight’s game.”

“Anything else?” asked Guido, making a note on his pad. Business was slow these days, even with the playoffs approaching.

“Not now,” said the spider guard. “But what is with the helmets? Are you celebrating Christmas already? Sorry, I did not get you anything.”

“I’m a peacekeeper now,” explained Guido. “So don’t be messing with the scorpions, or I’ll call in air strike.
Capise?
”

“It is going to take a lot more than blue helmets to protect those scorpions,” warned the spider guard. “Those scum-suckers need to be exterminated. That terrorist bombing at Walgreens Drugs was the last straw. I will try to give you about five minutes warning when our Air Wing strikes back.”

“Thanks,” said Guido. “You’re a real pal. I hope you realize how bad for business your feud with the scorpions has become.”

“They started it,” insisted the spider guard as he left for his side of the border. “Just between you and me, I would not shop at Walmart all this week.”