America's Galactic Foreign Legion - Book 1: Feeling Lucky

by Walter Knight

  “I am still alive! I have a family, too! They will hunt you down! Who are you? Some kind of bloodsucking lawyer?”

  “Of course I’m a lawyer,” responded Depoli.

  “Did I tell you the King of California is a personal friend of mine? Arnold is staying next door. I’m connected. I know people! Check it out. Doctor, talk to me!”

  “And you are pond scum,” Depoli shot back. “I’ve seen thousands like you come to Mars. You’re bugs attracted to the bright lights. You can’t help yourself but to come here. But Mars doesn’t want you. We have laws for your type. So I’m out of here if you don’t negotiate with me in good faith. What is your decision?”

  “Wait! I’ll settle for $200,000,” I said, trying not to sound too desperate. “You sound like a cop. Are you sure you’re a lawyer?”

  “I am not a heartless man,” explained Depoli. “I feel your pain. But I have a job to do. I have to represent the best interests of the resort industry and Harrah’s. I’ll tell you what. To prevent poor publicity at the height of the tourist season, I am authorized to accept your $200,000 settlement offer. It’s a better deal than you deserve. The money will be on your card within minutes.”

  “Thank you,” said. “I guess you’re not so bad for a lawyer.”

  “Are you sure we can’t just unplug him?” whispered Depoli to Dr. Fischer. “I’ll cosign the death certificate myself.”

  “That would be unethical,” explained Dr. Fischer. “He probably has a lot of life left in him. Besides, Mr. Czerinski is paying his medical bill with cash.”

  “Whatever,” said Depoli, abruptly leaving.

  “Excuse me, Mr. Czerinski,” said Dr. Fischer, “How does only $200,000 help your cause? You are still $150,000 short. Those ghouls in accounting are going to want their money.”

  “I know,” I replied. “Connect me up with a United States Galactic Federation Foreign Legion ATM.”

  “But I thought the ATM was shot up by terrorists,” replied the doctor.

  “Oh come on, Doc. There is more than one Legion ATM. Hook me up, pronto! I want out of here!” Minutes later it was done.

  “Good morning, Joey Czerinski,” said the United States Galactic Federation Foreign Legion ATM. “I heard you were shot. Crime is running rampant on Mars these days. I think it’s all the vagrants that are attracted by the fast life. They don’t realize how harsh colonial law can be. Mars does not coddle criminals. It might have been a poor choice for you to visit the Red Planet.”

  “I heard you got shot, too,” I sniped back. “Any suspects?”

  “Yes, I was shot. Several times. The matter is still under investigation. I’m sure the police will catch the culprits soon. What can I do for you?” asked the ATM.

  “I need $150,000 to pay for my recovery. Can you help me?” I asked.

  “I can more than help you. War has broken out on the Spider Frontier. Nuclear exchanges have occurred, and the United States Galactic Federation Foreign Legion will be the first deployed to the area. There is a $200,000 enlistment bonus being offered to quality recruits. Congress doubled the war time enlistment bonus, and the loan contract and fine print will be the same as before,” explained the ATM.

  “It’s a deal if the one month I have to pay back the money doesn’t start until I am fully recovered from my injuries,” I insisted, thinking that should cover any loopholes. I was trying to think ahead, but admitted I hadn’t done much of that lately. Usually it was just one day at a time.

  “We have a contract,” said the ATM “Legion doctors will be checking on you. We don’t want damaged goods, but I’m sure you will pass. You are in excellent care.”

  “Fine,” I said

  “Fine,” said the ATM.

  CHAPTER 4

  “Welcome to Channel Five World & Local News & Weather Tonight. I am Brad Jacobs. First, from the war front we have Phil Coen, live with interviews of our brave troops. Phil? What is the situation from planet New Colorado?”

  “Brad, The United States Galactic Federation’s Sixth and Seventh Fleets have smashed the spiders’ huge armada of warships and troop transports in a spectacular nuclear exchange in orbit around New Colorado, but not before an army of at least a million spiders landed on the planet’s surface and dug in. The good news is that the spider army is effectively cut off from supply and air support, and the spiders are no longer a threat to this quadrant of space. Most colonists have been evacuated, and all that remains is a simple mop up operation.”

  “Phil, that’s good news. I understand you have some young enthusiastic USGF Foreign Legion troopers standing by for interviews.”

  “Yes Brad. As you can see in my background, young legionnaire commandos of the First Division’s vaunted Third Battalion and their NCO’s are busy preparing their equipment for the jump to the surface. Sources tell me that the Fleet has used chemical, biological, and radiological warfare to eradicate the spider infestation on New Colorado, but some spiders just refuse to die unless we put boots on the ground. Morale is good. It is thought that this operation will be quick and that major combat operations are essentially over, pending mop-up operations. Let’s talk to some soldiers.” Phil Coen grabbed a legionnaire by the shoulder as he passed by and asked, “Are you looking forward to the jump to the planet’s surface and kicking some spider butt?”

  “Sientase, huya de mi. Viene usted con nosotros? El infierno no!” said Private Lopez as he shook loose and continued on his way.

  “Phil, maybe another legionnaire,” said Jacobs. “Does anyone up there speak English?”

  “Right Brad,” replied Coen as he approached another legionnaire. “Are you looking forward to mixing it up with the spiders?”

  “You must be out of your fucking mind!” said Private Green. “Our battalion is going to drop into the middle of a nest of about a million spiders and you are asking me if I am looking forward to it? Is this live?” Green looked around Phil Coen at the camera pointed at him. “Tell Bubba Jones I’m not paying him shit.” Private Green shook his fist at the camera. “Bubba can kiss my ass.”

  “I think Bubba Jones is dead,” said Coen. “It was on the news.”

  “Really?” asked Private Green. “Good riddance. That sorry fool is the reason I had to enlist.”

  “Phil,” Brad Jacobs interrupted, “do you get the feeling from interviewing our troops at the front that the spiders may put up some stiff resistance?”

  “Brad, I see a sergeant coming my way. Let’s get his comments. Sergeant, how tough of a fight do you expect the upcoming conflict to be?” asked Coen.

  “You men get your weapons and equipment squared away!” yelled Staff Sergeant Wilson. “Who the hell are you?”

  “I’m Channel Five World News Tonight action reporter Phil Coen, broadcasting live on the war effort. Tell me, Sergeant, how difficult will your jump today be, and what is your mission?”

  “This is an elite scout and commando battalion” explained Sergeant Wilson. “Our mission is to jump in behind enemy lines, locate where the spiders are dug in, and call in air strikes from space. This will paralyze enemy troop movement and disrupt command and control. Nothing is happening today. We still need reinforcements.”

  “But I talked to your company commander,” said Phil Coen. “He said the jump will be at dawn.”

  “What?” Sergeant Wilson whirled around. “Oh shit. Why am I always the last to find out about these things? I have to go!”

  “Phil,’ Jacobs said, “maybe you can find an officer who can comment on upcoming operations. Someone who knows what is happening? Channel Five World News Tonight is broadcasting live from the front at New Colorado.”

  “Sir, can we have your comments on this morning’s drop into spider country?” asked Coen, hooking a captain’s arm as he attempted to pass by. “Are you nervous about your untested troops’ performance?”

  “Who authorized you to be broadcasting about sensitive top secret operations?” asked Captain McGee. “Your reckless irresponsible report jeop
ardizes our entire mission! Don’t you know the enemy monitors all BHTV transmissions? They watch ZNN. Are you broadcasting in the clear? Christ! Corporal! Throw this fool out an airlock!”

  The screen went black. Music played. Finally the image shifted back to Brad Jacobs, who squirmed uncomfortably in his chair. He straightened a stack of papers before resuming. “This is Brad Jacobs and Channel Five World News & Weather Tonight. We have temporarily lost our live feed from the front at New Colorado. I’m sure they will sort things out soon. Moving on to local news, police detained and questioned five suspects involved in the recent shooting and murder of a young soldier in his room at Harrah’s Hotel & Casino, and the shooting vandalism of a United States Galactic Federation Foreign Legion ATM. Private Joey R. Czerinski, Third Battalion of the United States Galactic Federation Foreign Legion’s vaunted First Division, was found murdered from a single gunshot to the head last Tuesday. Sheriff’s Detective Mike McCoy stated at a news conference earlier today that links to organized crime and anti-war terrorists have been uncovered. One suspect, after giving valuable incriminating information, was released. Another suspect was assessed civil fines and released. A third suspect, reputed ring leader and organized crime kingpin Bubba (The Collector) Jones, and his two associates were charged with murder, vandalism of federal property, unlawful possession of a firearm, and being undesirables on Mars. After judicial review, all three were thrown out an airlock. Moving on to the weather, it will be hot, hot, hot all over Mars.”

  CHAPTER 5

  It was a bit disconcerting to hear a local TV news commentator say I had been murdered. The upside, of course, was that I wasn’t dead. Waking up from a coma far outweighed the downside of not waking up at all. It was good to be alive. A check in the mirror showed a nasty scar in the middle of my forehead, but when I touched it, I felt no pain. My skull just had a soft spot. I guessed there was only so much they could do with synthetic skin and surgery. And, in spite of the scar, I was looking pretty good. In fact, more than pretty good. The Fountain of Youth chip did its job. I looked and felt twenty years old. My muscle tone was perfect. I looked like a Greek god – with grey hair. I wondered if the limited warranty covered grey hairs.

  Oh, who cares, I feel great.

  Even the sexual enhancement chip seems to be working. I played around with some karate and self-help VRs, hoping to test the fast learning chip, but didn’t notice much difference in my memory retention. The Virtual History Channel gave me a headache.

  I was hoping that being declared murdered would absolve me of some of my debts, obligations, and responsibilities. No such luck. I checked my card for E-mail and found the world still wanted a piece of Joey Czerinski.

  Sergeant Mendoza of the United States Galactic Foreign Legion left orders for me to report to Fort Reagan for induction immediately after my discharge from the hospital. I was going to have to do something about that because, hell no I won’t go.

  Sheriff’s Detective McCoy sent me a not-so-subtle note to get out of town before sundown. McCoy stated that the unregistered gun found under my pillow had been linked to me by DNA and fiber evidence. The only reason I had not been thrown out an airlock for being an ‘undesirable on Mars’ was that at first McCoy thought I was going to die anyway when they pulled the plug. Then, the judge ruled that because of my enlistment status in the Legion, I was to be afforded certain federal protections against local jurisdiction. McCoy concluded that I would probably be killed in action on New Colorado or end up as ‘spider shit.’ He filed an appeal anyway, stating I should be thrown out an airlock as a matter of public safety.

  I can take a hint and will be leaving Mars, but not on a Foreign Legion shuttle or beam. I checked out of the hospital and headed straight for the casino craps tables with the last $50,000 left on my card. Time to earn the money to pay back the United States Galactic Federation Foreign Legion ATM.

  * * * * *

  Craps field betting went about as usual. Gradually, progressive betting on the field increased my profits. A little up and down, but my grub stake increased. Then I hit a lucky streak that was so awesome it was spooky. I could not lose no matter what I did. I never lost more than two bets in a row. Feeling confident, I put $250,000 on a field bet. The dice rolled…

  Four! Yes! I won and let it ride. The dice rolled…

  Twelve! Twelve pays triple. The crowd that had been gathering erupted into cheers and high fives. The casino put two million dollars on my card. Even taking into account inflation, two million dollars is a substantial amount. But more important than just being rich for a day, I could pay back the ATM. The pit boss asked me if I wanted to let it ride again. I didn’t answer or even leave a tip. I just ran to the ATM with my card in hand to pay back my loan.

  “Good morning, Joey R. Czerinski. How are you this fine day?” asked the United States Galactic Federation Foreign Legion ATM.

  “I am outstanding, chump,” I answered. “I’m here to pay back the $200,000 loan, plus interest.”

  “Your enlistment bonus is yours to spend as you see fit,” said the ATM. “I do not require that you pay it back.”

  “It’s a loan, and I am paying it back,” I insisted. “So don’t try anything funny. I know where you live.”

  “Your enlistment bonus cannot be returned. You are in the Legion now, for the duration of the war.”

  “Now wait a minute,” I said, panicking. “What war? I have a contract, signed in blood, with attachment transcripts on my card recording your promise that I had one month to pay back my loan after my discharge from the hospital. I just got discharged today. The terms of the loan are the same as last time, and I paid that loan off, too!”

  “The terms of your enlistment bonus are the same as last time, that is true. But, conditions have changed. Did you read the fine print as I told you to do? No, of course not. You are always in such a hurry to go to the casino. You’re just a live-for-the-moment kind of guy, aren’t you? The fine print of your enlistment bonus contract states very clearly that a United States Galactic Federation Congressional Declaration of War binds you to service in the USGF Foreign Legion for the duration of said war. No amount of money can buy you out of your contractual obligation to serve your country. Be proud. You are finally doing something worthwhile. You are ordered to report immediately to Fort Reagan, Mars. I have already taken the liberty of calling you a cab and advising Sergeant Mendoza that you are en route. As a courtesy reminder, it is a capital offense if you refuse to report.”

  “This is a bunch of chicken shit, is what I think.” I checked my card, scanning through the contract and attachments until I found the fine print: ‘United States Galactic Federation Congressional declaration of war binds you to serve … for the duration…’ I am so screwed. I kicked the ATM and staggered off down the street, limping on my sore foot.

  CHAPTER 6

  Sergeant First Class Arthur Mendoza stood on stage gazing at about one thousand recruits. “Gentlemen! Welcome to Fort Reagan. Welcome to the all-volunteer United States Galactic Federation Foreign Legion. Welcome to Mars. And welcome to the First Division. Are we all glad to be here?” he bellowed.

  “Yes Sergeant Mendoza,” we all answered half-heartedly.

  “You had better answer louder than that when I ask you a question, or I’m going to think some of you don’t want to be here,” said Mendoza, cupping his hand to his ear as if he was hard of hearing. “And if I think that, you and I are going to have some serious issues.”

  “Yes Sergeant Mendoza!” we all screamed.

  “That’s better! Now drop and give me twenty push-ups.” Mendoza paced the stage while we counted off the push-ups. “The United States Galactic Foreign Legion has a proud battle-proven tradition of being the first to fight, dating back to the mid-Twenty-first Century, when the old United States decided to stop pussyfooting around and opened a can of whupass on Islamic fascist terrorists, communists, greeners, OPEC, China, and Democrats. The United States conquered the world, creating a new world ord
er, stable food and energy prices, and eliminating the threat of weapons of mass destruction ever being used between nation states. A few bush wars and some guerrilla conflicts followed. The Foreign Legion has served first in all these conflicts. The Legion includes soldiers of all races, states, ethnic groups, lawful religions, sexes, and creeds. Hell, we even have a few volunteers from the Kingdom of California. Yes, I’m proud to say, we even take surfer dudes. There is no discrimination tolerated in the Legion.

  “With advances in wormhole space travel, quantum physics, and beam technology, a new modern United States Galactic Federation Foreign Legion protects humanity on all our colonies across the stars. Many people wonder all their sorry lives if they’ve made a difference. Legionnaires do not have that problem! The Legion is mankind’s first line of defense against the Spider Empire. Joining the Legion is the most noble, worthwhile, selfless commitment many of you will ever undertake. Serve honorably and with enthusiasm. Years from now you will look back fondly at your Legion service in the year 2215 and remember it as the best time of your life. That is, if you don’t get killed. That was a joke, son! A joke is a serious thing. Laugh!

  “Now listen up! You will split into three groups. Group A will be all of you who have no prior military experience. You people will be going through an extensive two week basic training that will test the limits of your physical and mental character. Group B will be any of you with limited military, reserve, or militia experience. We will evaluate your need for training and orientation on a case by case basis. Group C will be the combat vets. I will be checking your card files, so do not get into the wrong group or your ass is grass and I’m a lawnmower. For those of you from Mars who don’t know what a lawnmower is, you don’t want to find out! Move!”