America's Galactic Foreign Legion - Book 20: Time Machine

by Walter Knight

  “I bring a message from your wife Gabriela in Karnes County,” I announced, seating myself on a rock by the fire. “She is very concerned for you.”

  “You brought a letter, cousin?” asked Ben. “Please, let me have Gabriela’s sweet correspondence.”

  I handed Ben my communications pad. Gabriela’s beautiful image instantly appeared on the screen. “Ben! Is that you my love? Oh Ben, please come home from that terrible killing field called Gettysburg. Come home now, or I fear you will never return.”

  “Gabriela, how is this magic possible?”

  “Accept and trust Joey Czerinski as kin, and believe his miracle device as God-sent,” advised Gabriela. “I cannot keep the farm going without you. I cannot bear to live without you. Please, I beg, do not charge up that terrible ridge tomorrow morning. Come back to me, and live. Joey will arrange safe passage.”

  “We face the Yankees tomorrow, but how did you know? How do you speak all the way from Texas?”

  “The internet,” answered Gabriela. “Stop being a big stubborn Polack and come home this minute!”

  “I cannot desert my mates,” argued Ben. “It would bring dishonor to let them down. I can’t do it.”

  “But you will die! Joey showed me the future. It will be a slaughter charging up that hill.”

  “She’s right,” I interrupted. “Your scouts carry muskets against repeating rifles and cannon grape shot. You won’t even get close to the top of Cemetery Ridge.”

  “A prophetic place to meet my fate?” asked Ben. “I have faith in General Lee. The old man will lead us to victory.”

  “It’s not going to happen.”

  “Listen to Joey,” pleaded Gabriela. “His motion camera showed me the Battle of Gettysburg. You face certain death.”

  “I love you so much,” cried Ben, touching the screen image. “If my fate is to die in battle for the Confederate cause, so be it. I will do my duty.”

  “Don’t be such a schmuck,” I insisted over Gabriela’s cries. “The South will lose. A million Americans will die. For what? Nothing, that’s what.”

  “Damn Yankees will not tell Texas what to do!”

  “America will survive this terrible war to become the greatest country on Earth. America will take humanity across the stars. Don’t you want to see it? Don’t you want to return to Gabriela?”

  “I can hardly believe you are kin,” answered Ben. “Have you no sense of honor or duty? No loyalty? No pride and love of home and country?”

  “This from a man fighting a civil war against America?” I asked, upset. “You’re a traitor!”

  “Texas succeeded from the Union,” explained Ben. “I fight with Texas.”

  “After today, the war will be lost. Resistance is futile.”

  “Come home, Ben!” Gabriela repeated her plea, weeping uncontrollably. “Our sons need you at home!”

  “I love you more than life itself,” responded Ben somberly. “But I will not neglect my duty. If God wills the dawn to forfeit my life, so be it. Let my legacy be that I did not shirk my duty. Good bye, my love. I’ll see you in Heaven before the glory of God.”

  Ben tossed my communications pad onto the fire. Damn! I frantically kicked at the flames, desperately attempting to retrieve the device. It was badly charred, but still operated. Microsoft takes a licking, keeps on ticking. Good thing, too, because otherwise I would be stuck at Gettysburg, and later Antietam. No way José – I didn’t want that.

  “Fine,” I said contritely. “Stay if you must. Let no one say I didn’t try!”

  “You are leaving?” asked Ben.

  “Hell, yes,” I answered. “Only a fool accepts suicide willingly.”

  “You are not my kin. No Czerinski would slink off into the shadows like a coward. You have no morality, no shame. You are nothing to me.”

  “Thanks for the pep talk,” I replied guiltily. “I’m as loyal as anyone, but I don’t bet on losers. If you won’t flee the carnage that will be Gettysburg, at least do your family one favor. Wear this vest.” I stripped off my Kevlar vest, handing it to Ben. “A rifle bullet will probably still kill you through the vest, but who knows? You might get lucky. Rolling the dice is a Czerinski family tradition. If you survive Gettysburg, avoid Antietam. I will find you and take you home.”

  “I’m in for the duration.”

  “We’re all in for the duration, but I will drag you home to Texas anyway.”

  * * * * *

  An aide to Confederate Thomas ‘Stonewall’ Jackson brought the general a powder-charred Kevlar vest, long discarded by Private Benjamin Czerinski. He carefully examined the strange resistant material, and two musket shots embedded in its front plate.

  “Fascinating,” marveled General Jackson. “This jacket appears to be designed as lightweight battle armor. I cannot even hazard to guess its composition.”

  “I implore you to wear the armor,” suggested the aide. “We cannot afford to lose you during this time of great trial. Someone needs to save us from the catastrophe brought by General Lee.”

  “I will wear the jacket,” promised General Jackson. “If only Lee had thousands like it at Gettysburg, and I at Antietam.”

  Chapter 19

  In 1241, the Golden Horde of Genghis Khan threatened Europe. The barbarians were truly at the gates. But first, they had to pass through Poland. This time, that was not going to happen.

  At Lubin, Prince Czerinski led his Polish knights, using traditional European military tactics of the time. Knights were at the front, followed by peasant infantry. Prince Czerinski would engage the enemy in a mê·lée, or the close-quarter combat of the berserker.

  Batu Khan, grandson of Genghis Khan, had other plans. He brought new weapons, Chinese rifles and catapult gunpowder bombs, to lay siege to the European cities and castles. He forced the Poles to come out from behind their stone walls and fight in the open plains, where the Mongols excelled. Batu Khan had the Poles right where he wanted them. They would suffer the same fate as the Russians.

  Mongol light cavalry, mounted bowmen, probed the Polish advance. The Mongols were easily defeated and fell back. Buoyed by success, Prince Czerinski charged after them to press the advantage.

  However, the feint was a ruse used by the Mongols time and time again. The light cavalry did not fall back in disarray as it first appeared. They circled to attack the Polish flanks and rear. It was the Polish knights, in their excitement, who were disorganized and vulnerable to ambush, cut off from supporting infantry.

  Mongol flag-wavers signaled the trap was set. As the light cavalry circled, heavy cavalry, hidden by a smoke screen, attacked from the front. Archers rained arrows down on the hapless Poles. It was a slaughter in the making.

  “It looks like Custer all over again,” commented Major Lopez. “A fine mess you’ve gotten us into, again. This had better work.”

  “Ye of little faith,” I replied. “Of course it will work. When the battle is over, I’ll honor your loyalty with a statue to Prince Lopez, in the middle of Krakow Square.”

  “My life is in the hands of the Polish Army,” lamented Major Lopez. “What was I thinking?”

  “Thank the Polish army and the Browning Arms Company,” I added. “It’s not for lack of effort that Poland has been defeated by its neighbors. Poles have heart. Watch and learn.”

  I fired a red flare into the sky. It slowly drifted back to Earth, its brightness and small white parachute fascinating the two armies. All stopped for just a moment. Polish knights dismounted, forming a French square. They assembled and loaded 50-cal machine guns on tripods between shields. The relentless firepower of the guns mowed down twenty thousand Mongols that day at the Battle of Liegnitz. Europe was saved. Batu Khan’s head was impaled on a pike and paraded through all of Poland.

  The mighty Polish Army turned south to outflank Mongols invading Hungary. Caught in a vicious vice clamp between Polish forces and Hungary’s King Bela IV, a horde of two-hundred-thousand Mongols perished. Also assisting was a Legion
shuttle, bombing Mongol troops from the air. Air support is always good when fighting Golden Hordes.

  * * * * *

  “You’re not serious about staying, are you?” asked Major Lopez, admiring his new statue.

  “Just for a while, long enough to start a family,” I answered. “Hot Polish princesses are lined up for city blocks to have my babies. How can I say no? There will be Czerinskis all across Eastern Europe. What are your plans?”

  “I will not go AWOL.”

  “Don’t get me wrong. I’m loyal to America and humanity, but I’m tired. I’ve come a long way, and now I’m needed back here on Old Earth. It’s time for someone else to save the galaxy. You do it. I’ll do what I can from here.”

  “Poland will save the world?” asked Major Lopez. “Not likely.”

  “It could happen.”

  “I hear Polish winters are brutal.” Major Lopez sighed. “The Legion will miss you. I will miss you, my friend. Good luck to you, sir.”

  “Ditto.”

  “We still have an alien invasion coming.”

  “Don’t worry. I’ll make a home for myself here, but I’ll be back. There will be an America’s Galactic Foreign Legion – Book 21.”

  * * * * *

  By public acclaim and coup d’etat, I was crowned King of Poland. My coronation doubled as my wedding date – fewer anniversaries to remember that way. I embraced the hot and beautiful Princess Laquishaski of Southside Warsaw on my castle balcony, overlooking multitudes of adoring peasants. We chatted casually about the wedding and our future.

  “This is the happiest day of my life,” gushed Princess Laquishaski. “Not only have I found my Prince Charming, but I get to be Queen! What are you giving me for a wedding present, my love?”

  “The gift of love. I’m all yours.”

  “What else?”

  “What would you like, dearest? Your wish is my command.”

  “Germany.”

  “All of it?”

  “Yes, of course. Only a fool would divide Germany into parts.”

  “How about something smaller, like a Dachshund or Volkswagen? We just ended one war with the Mongols; I don’t want to start another. It’s time to consolidate power and rebuild Poland, for the children.”

  “You get no heirs until I get Germany!”

  “You’re just being difficult,” I replied dismissively.

  “Oh, yeah? I’ll show you difficult!” shouted Princess Laquishaski. “All I ask for is one little country, and you refuse me? I see a disturbing trend.”

  “What trend? Our marriage was arranged, we only just met, we hardly know each other, and you’re still a virgin.”

  “Ha! I mean, of course I am, and will so remain, until you give me Germany gift-wrapped. We’re going to have to deal with those Krauts sooner or later anyway. You told me so yourself. I say crush the Hun now while we still have the army to do it.”

  “There’s lots of time,” I argued reasonably. “How about Luxemburg? It’s a nice pretty little country with lots of tulips and magic mushrooms.”

  “No!”

  “If you’re going to nag, perhaps I was hasty selecting you as my queen, even if you are well-connected.”

  “Oh, honey-bunch, sugar-lips, I’m sorry I upset you so. What’s the big deal? Pretty please. All I ask for is one little country right next door. It is an insult to Polish pride that I can see the Hun from my bedroom tower window, scurrying about doing all sorts of nasty brutish Hun things over there.”

  “Fine! You can have Germany, but that’s it. No more conquest or bloodlust for you.”

  “Thank you dear,” replied Princess Laquishaski graciously, already thinking of trashing France for being rude. “You’re the sweetest king in the world.”

  “Ever want to just get away?” I lamented out loud. “America is a pristine wilderness in this time line. Think of the purple mountains majesty, unspoiled by civilization, from sea to shining sea, except for a few Aztecs, which haven’t even invented the wheel yet.”

  “Purple mountains? America? Never heard of it.”

  “You will, and so will the world.”

  * * * * *

  An elderly Albert Einstein was sitting comfortably in his living room, smoking a pipe, when the door chimes rang. A stranger in an odd military uniform stood in the doorway.

  “I am from the future,” announced General Lopez, brushing by. “I’ve come a long way to make you an offer you can’t refuse.”

  “It’s about time you got here,” admonished Einstein. “When I invented the special theory of relativity, I knew this day would come. It’s like the circle of life, except different. Yes, yes, tell me all about the future.”

  “That easily you believe I’m from the future?” asked General Lopez incredulously. “You will go back to the future with me to help fight aliens?”

  “I won’t help you make war.”

  “Don’t be such a liberal,” replied General Lopez. “The galaxy is a dangerous place, not because of the evil in it, but because of those who won’t do anything about that evil.”

  “Mankind requires a new manner of thinking if we are to survive,” argued Einstein. “Otherwise, we drift toward unparalleled catastrophe.”

  “Whatever. If you will not help fix my time machine, I can get Thomas Edison, but you’re supposed to be a genius, the smartest person ever.”

  “I have no special talent,” commented Einstein modestly. “My advantage is I am passionately curious. The difference between stupidity and genius is genius has its limits.”

  “You split the atom.”

  “Is that all I’m remembered for? Get to the point, man! You want me to fix time because you mucked it up? Is that it?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “I’m an old man. What can I do? What’s in it for me?”

  “I can restore your youth,” promised General Lopez. “I can take you across the stars, and much more. America has colonized planets and discovered alien civilizations. There’s a whole galaxy of nations out there.”

  “America?”

  “Who else could do it?”

  “I had high hopes for the United Nations.”

  “Ha! That would be the day,” scoffed General Lopez. “You immigrated to America to be free. Freedom nurtures the creativity to think outside the galaxy.”

  “You mean outside the box?”

  “Exactly.”

  “I will not help you bomb aliens,” insisted Einstein passionately. “I won’t travel down that road again.”

  “We just need your help calibrating the time machine. The paradoxes are beginning to pile up.”

  “I’m not surprised. Science is a wonderful thing if one does not have to earn one’s living at it. Fixing time will cost you big bucks.”

  “Economic times are tough,” replied General Lopez, a wily negotiator. “America is about to go off a fiscal cliff, and all you care about is money?”

  “I want a billion dollars in gold.”

  “No way.”

  “Once we accept our limits, we can go beyond them. I can help you. I usually do not think of the future, it comes soon enough. But, you can’t just bend the fabric of time without consequences. You didn’t think things through when you played with your time machine, and now you need me to save your ass.”

  “America will pay a half billion in gold, and I feel I have egregiously cheated the taxpayers.”

  “You have a deal, time traveler. I just got a new theory of eternity.”

  * * * * *

  Hamza al-Ghandi was exhausted after training all day at flight school. He was also on edge. Tonight someone had followed him to the motel. It had happened before. Hamza caught a glimpse, or was it just a shadow? It was nothing. He was relieved to finally key the door, pushing inside his room. As the light came on, General Lopez slit the terrorist’s throat. “Too bad, so sad, bendaho.”

  * * * * *

  General Lopez assassinated a dozen 9-1-1 terrorists attending the flight school, but their
leader Mohammed Atta and a few others got away. Now, Lopez waited patiently at Logan Airport in Boston to board American Airlines Flight 11. Sure enough, Atta was boarding, too. Lopez followed, sitting a couple rows behind in first class.

  After takeoff, Lopez entered the cramped restroom to assemble his Glock from parts hidden inside a laptop computer. Taking his seat again, Lopez waited, scanning for the others. Atta moved to the front. Three others sat evenly spaced apart. A fifth terrorist was missing. Damn! As Atta made his move to the cockpit, Lopez shot the two closest terrorists. The third grabbed a flight attendant, holding a box cutter knife to her throat.

  “Stay back, or I’ll cut the bitch! I’ve got a bomb!”

  Lopez fired anyway, killing both. The fifth terrorist from second class cut him from behind. Lopez stumbled forward, firing wildly over his shoulder. Passengers grabbed the terrorist, wrestling him to the floor, pounding him into unconsciousness.

  There was fighting in the cockpit. A bloodied flight attendant screamed as she staggered past. Wounded, Atta attacked the pilots, knives in each hand. Quickly Atta seated himself behind the controls, veering the plane toward the World Trade Building. Lopez lunged forward, emptying his clip into Atta’s back.

  “Are you a Sky Marshal?” asked a passenger, struggling to hold Lopez. “Was this a hijacking?”

  “I’m Foreign Legion!” blurted Lopez as passengers helped him stand.

  “We’re being saved by the French?”

  “Viva la France!” shouted someone in the back.

  “We need to fly the plane ourselves,” advised Lopez, clearing his head from loss of blood as he shot the wounded terrorist restrained on the floor. “Help me to the pilot’s seat.”

  “Let’s roll,” replied a passenger, assisting Lopez forward. “Are you a pilot, legionnaire?”