“No one pulls my strings, or yanks my chain,” insisted Patton defensively. “Czerinski thinks he runs the show, but I’m in charge. We have a chance to accomplish so much. God willing, luck will be with us.”
“Something bad, blame God, something good, thank luck,” commented Murphy, always superstitious, reaching in his pocket to rub his rabbit’s food. “You’re the luckiest general ever, so why not the luckiest President? Fine, I’ll roll the dice with you again. Baby needs a new pair of everything. But I’m telling you, there better not be Martians among us.”
“We’ve both come a long ways,” advised Patton amicably. “Martians or God, neither creates greatness. Only opportunity allows greatness to happen. Now is our opportunity. Understand, sergeant?”
“Yes, sir.”
* * * * *
I personally served a restraining order on FBI Director J. Edgar Hoover at his office. Hoover was not happy, but kept his emotions in check. “It’s a good thing you’re here, Czerinski. I’ve been wanting a private conversation with you. It’s time to clear the air.”
“Okay,” I said amicably, taking a seat in front of his desk.
He pointed a finger at me. “I’ve been watching you, mister. I know what you’re about.”
“I have no problem with the FBI vetting the future President’s staff and inner circle, but your outlandish accusations of conspiracy are harassment. Not a good career move on your part, I might add.”
“You threaten me? What’s your game? You a Mason? Illuminati? You better not be a Communist mole, or I’ll shoot you myself.”
“Do these accusations mean you no longer think I’m in league with aliens?”
“Kennedy was a fool to say that, especially in public. I know you’re not legit. I can read people. Your New World Order bullshit has a rotten foundation. Everything about you stinks.”
“We’re through,” I announced smugly, rising to leave. “You’re delusional.”
Hoover was quick over his desk, shoving me against the wall and thrusting a small pistol in my face.
“You smart-ass little punk. You think you can just waltz into my office and threaten me, and expect to walk out?”
“You’ve gone nuts!”
“Talk, you Polack bastard! Who do you work for?”
“General Patton.”
“Tell the truth! Are there Martians?”
I accessed a small taser stun gun hidden up his sleeve, zapping Hoover’s ample gut. The big man dropped to the floor like a sack of potatoes. I applied another charge just for spite, causing the director to lose continence as he convulsed on the soiled carpet.
“Sorry about that,” I whispered, scooping up the pistol as a souvenir. “I’m a fan of your work. Hell, you busted Dillinger and Capone. I wish I could stay and chat about back-in-the-day, but I’ll let myself out. Times are a-changing, and we must look to the future.”
* * * * *
Both General Patton and Senator Kennedy were confident of victory on election night. Patton expected to easily carry his home state of California. Kennedy thought he had an East Coast fix on Florida, Texas, and Illinois, but something went wrong. Kennedy was even less popular than soccer. Patton’s simple message of ‘God is good, beer is great, and Commie bastards are crazy’ resonated across middle America. Increased black voter registration also helped Republicans. Farrakhan delivered big time. In the end, Kennedy only carried Massachusetts and parts of New England. The rest was a landslide victory for Patton.
Chapter 25
“My fellow Americans, moments ago, Senator Kennedy graciously phoned, conceding the election, and pledging to set aside differences to work with my administration in the best interest of America. I promised Senator Kennedy my door will always be open for advice from our colleagues across the isle.
“There will be challenges, but the best of times lie ahead. The greatness of America will lead the world by its example. American compassion, ingenuity, resolve, and strength will guide humanity to a New World Order. Man will set foot on the moon and beyond before I leave office, and do it on American starships. Today the moon, tomorrow Saturn.
“Mark my words. The Evil Russian Empire will crumble, and its people will be set free. The tyranny of Communism will not stand. The Iron Curtain must come down. Mr. Khrushchev, tear that Iron Curtain down!
“Breakthrough technology will bring opportunity and prosperity to all Americans. America will lead humanity as God Almighty has intended this great country to do so from our very beginning. God has always blessed America, and always will. I humbly thank you all for the opportunity to be your President, and to lead America once again. I will not let you down.”
* * * * *
Shortly after Patton’s inauguration speech, the first day of his administration was marred by a humanitarian crisis in Southeast Asia. A meteor shower struck North Vietnam, destroying the capitol city of Hanoi and its government, and damaging the nearby port city of Hai Phong, causing widespread flooding and damage to crops. North Vietnam was left in shock and rudderless by the unprecedented natural disaster. Millions were left homeless.
Vice-President Murphy was ordered to go to Saigon to personally coordinate international aid. At North Vietnam’s request, South Vietnamese President Ngo Dinh Diem was sending Special Forces troops north to facilitate aid efforts. Unification and reconciliation talks were initiated, with the intent to seal the border with China.
* * * * *
As President Patton’s Chief of Staff, I waited outside the door to the Oval Office, listening to him discuss the trip with Vice-President Murphy.
“Why do I have to go?” asked Murphy. “I thought all the Vice-President did was go to parties and funerals.”
“You’re going to Ho Chi Minh’s funeral, and to make a deal with General Giap for protection against the Chinese.”
“They’re all Communists up north, aren’t they? What if Giap doesn’t much welcome me?”
“Make the dear general an offer he can’t refuse. It’s better to eat American shit for a hundred years than Chinese shit for a thousand.”
“What?”
“Giap takes a long-term view on everything,” explained President Patton.
“Can’t the Secretary of State handle this?” complained Murphy. “I hate swamps and mosquitoes.”
“Take bug-bomb with you. This is important. Communism has never retreated from conquered territory. It took an act of God, but we did it. The locals chased those Commie bastards all the way across the Chinese frontier. Now we need to keep the peace.”
“Is it safe? I mean, aren’t meteors radioactive?”
“Man up, Murphy. You’re going there to help. It’s what America does. Take lots of pictures. You are not only going to save North Vietnam, but you’re going to do it on TV. We’re talking Nobel Peace Prize if all goes well.”
“For me?”
“Not likely.”
“Are there any more killer meteors out there?” asked Murphy skeptically. “NASA should be investigating this whole matter. Something is rotten on the moon.”
“NASA Director Blyler assures me all telescopes are searching for more space rocks. You just tell the Chinese when you’re over there that the next meteor that hits may just hit them if they mess with me on this. You tell them to stay on their side, or else.”
“Or else? What’s that mean?”
“It means or else!”
“Excuse me, Mr. President,” I interrupted, peeking past the door into the Oval Office. “Chinese Ambassador Lin is here to see you. He says it’s of the utmost importance that you and he talk.”
“Make him wait,” replied President Patton. “I’ll see him on my schedule, not his.”
“How long?”
“Next week.”
“Does this mean I don’t have to meet with the Chinese after all?” asked Murphy.
“You’re not off the hook, not even close.”
“Sir,” I interrupted, “do you think it’s prudent not seeing th
e Ambassador? He brought a gift.” I handed the President a box containing a small sculpture of a duck. It was a magnificent piece, but it was still a duck. How odd.
“What the hell?” asked President Patton incredulously. “Is this the Year of the Duck, or what?”
“I don’t know,” I answered, shrugging. “You could ask him yourself.”
“Have it scanned for bugs,” ordered President Patton, tossing the duck to Murphy. “It’s not a Buddha. I wouldn’t put it past those godless Chinese Commie bastards to put a microphone up a duck’s ass.”
“It’s made of wood,” commented Murphy, deftly catching the duck with one hand. “You’d think something this nice would be sculpted from ivory.”
“If it’s wood, it’s junk. Throw it in the trash.”
“Not so fast,” I interjected, grabbing the duck for closer scrutiny, then placing it on the President’s desk. “So it’s not expensive ivory. Maybe it was sculpted in the ghetto. It’s the thought that counts, not the price.”
“The Chinese ghetto? You are Polish, aren’t you?”
“China is the most populated country on Earth, and a nuclear power,” I reasoned. “Their army is poised on the Vietnamese border. Deal with the Red Chinese now, and get it over with. Don’t let ill will fester.”
“Fine! Show Lin in.”
Ambassador Lin entered, escorted by the Secret Service. Seeing the duck on the President Patton’s desk, he smiled, and warmly shook the President’s hand.
“Do you like it?” asked Ambassador Lin, motioning to the duck. “It’s a rare piece, dating back to the Han Dynasty.”
“Love it,” answered President Patton. “That’s the best damn duck present I’ve ever got. Will it float?”
“I don’t think so. Chairman Mao Zedong asked me to express the People’s Republic of China’s concern about American adventurism in Indochina, specifically in the Democratic Republic of Vietnam. He fears America is taking advantage of a natural disaster to occupy the North.”
“Those same meteors that hit Hanoi could rain down on China, too,” threatened President Patton. “The galaxy is a dangerous place. Understand me?”
“You control meteors?”
“Can I make myself any clearer? Stay on your side of the border, or I’ll turn China into a desolate and lifeless moonscape.”
“I see.”
“I doubt it.”
“Do not threaten the dragon.”
“I thought so. Let me give you a little demonstration.” President Patton glanced out the Oval Office windows at the Ambassador’s long black limousine. “Nice wheels, Mr. Ambassador. Take a closer look.”
Ambassador Lin looked down at his stretch limousine, its chauffeur waiting patiently, leaning against the front. Puzzled, he glanced at Patton. Then it happened. A basketball-sized rock fell from the sky, hitting the limo squarely on its roof. The devastating impact bounced the limo into the air, rolling and cutting it in half. When the dust settled, Secret Service and marines swarmed over the wreckage, pulling the driver to safety.
“I’ll call you a cab,” offered President Patton amicably. “Sorry about the car.”
I shook my head, lamenting the fact that the space platform T. Roosevelt got stranded in this time period as a result of an earlier snafu with the time machine. Technologically, it was damned difficult to get supplies to the crew aboard, considering American space exploration was still in its infancy. But we were working to correct that.
* * * * *
Closer to home, the crisis in Cuba soon unexpectedly deteriorated. Rebel insurgents ringed Havana, threatening rocket attacks if dictator Fulgencio Batista didn’t capitulate. Batista had already accepted his fate, hoping only to get himself and his family out of Cuba with what money they could carry. Two rebel groups had united and converged on Havana in a classic pincer movement, squeezing the city like a vise. The Communists, led by little-known Che Guevara, a disgruntled tee-shirt street peddler turned guerrilla mastermind, were heavily armed by the Soviet Union. The Cartel, led by the flamboyant Anthony Montana, a small-time gangster thug from the barrio, had more numbers. Also, the Cartel’s urbanistas were better organized and financed, supported by bank robberies, protection-extortion rackets, and cigar manufacturers.
The brazen Montana entered Havana first, at the head of a victory parade. “Snooze you lose,” he boasted. “Let the Bastistas flee to America on rickety boats like the cockroaches they are!” Waving to cheering crowds, Montana graciously promised amnesty to all but Bastista’s closest cronies. He vowed all soon-to-be nationalized casinos would stay open 24-7.
Guevara’s Communists were blocked from entering Havana and locked out of forming the new government. They took their fight to the hills. Guevara vowed he would never let the new fascist Montana replace the old fascist Batista, or allow the people of Cuba to be exploited again by the capitalist cigar lobby and their cancerous plots against universal public healthcare.
Visibly angered by Che Guevara’s slanderous provocations, Montana called out Guevara, labeling him a punk son-of-a-puta bendaho who fornicated with mountain goats. The United States tried to appear neutral but imposed a naval blockade to prevent Soviet arms shipments to the Communists. Also, the Navy kept a close monitor on increased UFO sightings over Cuba and the Bermuda Triangle.
Chapter 26
Vice-President Audie Murphy met General Giap at the Hanoi Airport, which miraculously escaped the meteor shower devastation. They ate with other dignitaries at the newly built McDonald’s fine food restaurant, dining on Quarter-Pounders. The Happy Meal burger was remarkably American, except the beef was water buffalo, and rice was substituted for hated French fries.
“I take a long view of world history,” began General Giap. “Reuniting with the South will be a difficult process, and an unlikely possibility. There is oil off our coast, and the Chinese want it. That’s not going to happen.”
“I agree,” replied Vice-President Murphy. “Improvised responses work better when they’re planned in advance.”
“America is with us?”
“Be assured, you have America’s full support against Red Chinese aggression. Anything else?”
“Pizza Hut is building next door.”
“Outstanding!” exclaimed Murphy, slapping the table as he got up. “That wraps up my part of the visit. Our aides can handle the details.”
“Not so fast,” insisted Giap, staying seated. “President Patton promised foreign aid and American TV. Texaco promised giant oil rig platforms in the Gulf of Tonkin. Both promised lots of United Nations carbon credits.”
“Have you filled out your United Nations environmental impact statement?” asked Murphy testily. “No one wants oil slicks killing baby seals or gumming up the penguins.”
“Vietnam does not have seals or penguins,” replied Giap, triumphantly handing over the necessary documentation. “All we have are sea turtles, and we’re working on a final solution to that menu item.”
“How are you getting along with your neighbors to the south?” asked Murphy conversationally. “No big glorious five-year invasion plans for Laos, South Vietnam, or Cambodia on the horizon?”
“Fools that think war is glorious have never seen war.”
“You’ve got that right. So, no war with the South?”
“The South wants unification, but those hillbillies will not get their grubby little capitalist hands on my oil. No way, Jose.”
“Understood,” agreed Murphy, warmly shaking hands with Giap. “My condolences to Uncle Ho.”
“Whatever.”
* * * * *
Secretary of Defense Barry Goldwater briefed President Patton on the developing Cuban crisis. The Russians threatened to run the blockade to supply arms to Guevara, and promised dire consequences if any of their ships were molested by the United States Navy. Also, there was an alarming increase in Russian submarine and fishing trawler activity off the East Coast.
“Khrushchev is particularly upset about the disappear
ance of a frigate and several trawlers south of Bermuda,” added Secretary Goldwater. “He blames us.”
“Are we responsible for that?” asked President Patton conspiratorially, knowing marines had boarded and searched several Russian ships. “There’s no CIA Red October thing going on?”
“What? No, Mr. President. We know nothing about Russian ships sinking without a trace, with not even evidence of an oil slick. It’s common knowledge ships disappear all the time in the Bermuda Triangle. I warned the Russians of it, and to stay out. But, do they listen? No!”
“Russians know nothing about sailing. They’re a menace to the high seas,” commented President Patton. “They need to stay out of our ocean.”
“Exactly. It’s probably all a ruse, to foment international sympathy at Khrushchev’s upcoming visit to the United Nations in New York.”
“That Commie bastard. No matter. A lion does not lose sleep over the opinion of sheep. I am the lion.”
* * * * *
Anthony Montana and his cousin Manny Ray Lopez moved into Havana’s Presidential Palace. The place was huge. They were really moving on up the social ladder. The mansion even had an outdoor fountain indoors. It was like a Spanish castle, except different, with more bright paint.
Lopez had big plans for the place. He just got off the phone with the CIA when Montana confronted him about secret calls to the United States. “I made a deal with America,” boasted Lopez. “By executive order, President Patton is moving the Houston Astros Baseball Franchise to Havana. They’re even putting me in the starting rotation. Remember how good a pitcher I was when we were kids back in the day?”
“You made a deal?” asked Montana incredulously. “You? Cuba is mine. I made all this happen. I make the deals about Cuba, not you!”
America's Galactic Foreign Legion - Book 21: Breaking Very Bad Page 13
