“We might do just that if the Legion or the Singh Corporation gives us any grief over the matter,” said the Emperor of the North. “We can demand that the money be put in an Arthropodan bank account off-planet. That way we don’t have to worry about being caught picking up the money.”
“Will the Emperor of Arthropoda cooperate with that?” asked G.E. “We will still have to go to a bank to access the money.”
“I will mail pieces of Ralph Singh to the Legion until we get agreement on the ransom,” said the Emperor of the North. “The human pestilence are more squeamish about lost limbs and digits than we are because they cannot grow back body parts, and because they bleed out so fast. The human pestilence will agree to our demands soon enough.”
* * * * *
Private Washington parked the armored car at the midway point on top of the Finisterra Bridge. My orders were to wait there on the high point of the Bridge until the next tracking signal from Singh was detected. We suspected that the insurgents kept Singh underground most of the time, interfering with the GPS signal. As a precaution, however, the insurgents constantly moved Singh to different locations at night. This would be done above ground, and so we waited for their next move. We planned to race off the Bridge and trap the insurgents before they could jump back into their spider holes. Drones, night vision gear, and speed would give us an advantage. Tanks led by Lieutenant Lopez, already in East Finisterra, stood by to flank the insurgents after we made contact.
The insurgents sent a message demanding a half billion dollars for Ralph Singh, to be placed in a yet to be determined Arthropodan bank, or else Singh would be sent to us in pieces. My reply from the Legion was that the United States Galactic Federation does not negotiate ransom demands with terrorists. Also, the Legion arrested thirty hostages, mostly families and friends of suspected insurgents, plus three members of the East Finisterra High School football team. A representative from the Singh Mining Corporation, James Yamashita, replied that he needed more time to get that much money together. Yamashita suggested a partial payment of five million dollars in cash to be dropped in a location of the insurgents’ choosing as a show of good faith, and to prevent any rash slicing and dicing of CEO Singh. In the meantime, all anyone could do for now was wait.
The small maintenance building atop the Finisterra Bridge was being used as a barracks for legionnaires guarding the bridge. Private Washington went inside the barracks to get some sleep. Others did the same. They say a legionnaire can sleep anywhere, but Private Washington could not sleep no matter what. He took a couple of pills to help him sleep. Medic Ceausescu said the beta blockers slowed Adrenalin and would calm him, but it did not help. Now it was too quiet inside the barracks. Or, maybe it was the wrong kind of noise. Human snoring was just too alien to allow relaxation anywhere near. Private Washington needed background noise that was pleasant. Something familiar. Something Legion.
Private Washington walked back outside. He started up the engine of the armored car and curled up in the cab. In minutes Private Washington drifted blissfully into deep sound sleep.
Corporal Tonelli could not sleep either. The temperature and humidity in the barracks was wrong, and someone had left the engine running on the armored car outside his window. The noise grated on him. What a waste of fuel, he thought. He went outside to turn the engine off. He found Private Washington asleep behind the wheel of the armored car. Private Washington clutched at his assault rifle, but he seemed peacefully content. A claw rested on the dash.
Tonelli reached for the ignition switch. Private Washington stirred, hissing and mumbling in his sleep, swiping with his claw at dreamland foes. Tonelli pulled back, anxious at the thought of waking the big green spider. He changed his mind about turning off the engine and walked to the east end of the bridge. He went to sleep in the guard shack, finding it quiet and peaceful.
* * * * *
At midnight the alarm was quickly passed, indicating that Ralph Singh’s GPS tracking device was active. Flack-jacketed legionnaires loaded into the back of the armored car. Each sat on a sandbag. I rode on top in the turret. As we sped off the bridge, we picked up Corporal Tonelli at the guard shack. We only got about three blocks when our portable electronic jamming devices set off an IED mounted half way up a power pole. Attached detonation cord set off a chain of explosions as we passed by. We were saved because the timing of the IED’s were off. Still, the explosions rocked the sides of the armored car. Hatches left cracked with pins still in place helped permit dispersion of concussive effects. My ears, however, were still ringing. Medic Ceausescu quickly checked legionnaires for shock as we continued on our mission.
The GPS showed that Ralph Singh was being moved north out of town along a dirt road that paralleled the river. Drone images showed three small jeeps driving fast and without lights. Also, a tip had been called in that Singh was being moved north. We raced after them.
* * * * *
The Emperor of the North’s plan was to move Ralph Singh out of town to G.E.’s space shuttle. The Legion had been getting too close, and East Finisterra had been deemed unsafe. The Emperor of the North rode in the second jeep. Singh sat blindfolded next to him. G.E. rode in the rear jeep with his Special Forces troops.
The mood was upbeat. Earlier in the day they had picked up the five million dollars down payment from the Singh Mining Corporation. The money was carried in G.E.’s vehicle. Just after leaving town, G.E. ordered the driver to turn off the road and into the woods. I hope the Legion kills them all, he thought to himself.
The Legion helicopter gunship fired a burst of five hundred 50 cal rounds into the lead jeep. The vehicle disintegrated. Warning rounds were then fired over the second jeep. On his night vision scope, the pilot could see several spiders and one human captive exit the vehicle and run into the forest. Another burst of 50 cal fire destroyed their jeep behind them.
The Emperor of the North dragged Singh deeper into the cover of the forest. He could see headlights behind him and hear the arrival of a Legion armored car crashing through the underbrush. The armored car high-centered on some fallen trees. Legionnaires poured out of the armored car and fanned out, forming a protective perimeter. A machine gunner fired blindly into the woods. Cannon fire followed. A lucky shot killed two insurgents.
The Emperor of the North carried Singh as the group of insurgents fled through the forest at about forty miles per hour. The human pestilence had failed to account for how fast a spider could move at sustained speeds. They easily put distance between them and the Legion. But at every turn, the legionnaires and the helicopter seemed to anticipate their moves. It was as if the Legion knew which way to turn. Finally the Emperor of the North stopped and confronted Singh. “How are they tracking us?” he asked. “Tell me now, if you value your life.”
“How should I know?” asked Singh. “I can’t tell anything blindfolded.”
The Emperor of the North drew his combat knife and cut the blindfold off of Singh, drawing blood in the process. He held the knife to Singh’s eye. “One last time for you to tell me the truth,” said the Emperor of the North. “I will cut out your eyeball if you don’t see things my way real quick.”
“There is a GPS tracking chip in my thigh,” said Singh. “Please don’t hurt me.”
The Emperor of the North bit through Singh’s thigh and extracted the tracking chip with his mouth and mandibles. He gave the chip to another insurgent with instructions to lead the legionnaires north, away from their group. The Emperor of the North then led his fighters through the forest, back to a safe house in East Finisterra.
Corporal Tonelli and his monitor dragon followed the insurgents’ trail deep into the woods. I trailed them, also checking my portable GPS device. The GPS indicated Singh was headed back toward the river. But the dragon, after finding a small amount of blood, insisted on tracking toward East Finisterra. I followed Tonelli and his ‘dog’ Spot. I radioed to Sergeant Green back at the armored car to track the GPS. They soon found the lone insur
gent carrying the GPS tracker and killed him. The rest of the platoon followed the dragon to a small home on the edge of town. I called in an air strike, destroying the building. But the insurgents had already taken Singh down a spider hole and escaped into the vast tunnel system under East Finisterra.
* * * * *
“We need to go into the tunnels if we are going to root out the insurgents,” advised James Yamashita. “This cat and mouse game you are playing is not working.”
“We can’t fight in the tunnels because we lose our tactical advantage down there,” I replied. “Above ground we have mobility, firepower, and air support. Below ground we have nothing, not even numbers.”
“You have successfully fought the spiders in the tunnels before,” argued Yamashita, his fists clinched. “You can do it again.”
“No. We were not successful,” I insisted. “My entire platoon was captured or killed.”
“You want to go down there so bad,” said Lieutenant Lopez. “I’ll take you down with me. We’ll see how much you like the idea then. Idiota.”
“What did you call me?” asked Yamashita. “General Kalipetsis assured me I would get your full cooperation in rescuing CEO Singh. Do I have to tell General Kalipetsis you are not being helpful?”
“Look, you little pimple,” I said, grabbing Yamashita by the throat and shoving him against the wall. “If I report your death to General Kalipetsis, no one will even miss you.”
“Please, we are all on the same side,” said Yamashita. “I did not mean to offend or threaten either of you. It’s just that I’m under a lot of stress. How about if we pump gas into the tunnels?”
“Wouldn’t that stop the ongoing mining operations?” I asked, letting go of Yamashita. “And I think there are too many interconnected tunnels to do that effectively.”
“The Singh Mining Corporation owns most of the mining tunnels anyway,” said Yamashita. “I can close down all mining and seal egress points while you gas the tunnels. We don’t even have to gas all the tunnels. If you can determine an approximate location for CEO Singh, that will be good enough.”
“It might work,” agreed Lieutenant Lopez. “Our scientists have recently developed some great new nerve agents that work real well against the spiders.”
“Nerve agents?” asked Yamashita. “I was thinking more along the lines of tear gas or some kind of knockout or vomit gas. Remember, we do not want to risk killing CEO Singh. Our goal is to rescue him.”
“My goal is to destroy the insurgency,” I said. “The Legion does not negotiate with terrorists. I accept that there will be some collateral damage. I like the idea of using nerve agent in the tunnels.”
“CEO Singh is not to be considered collateral damage,” said Yamashita. “He is the richest most powerful man on New Colorado.”
“He may be the richest,” I said. “But you have got a lot to learn about power.”
* * * * *
“Now, see here,” said the spider Mayor of East Finisterra. “It is bad enough that all the miners are out of work today. But now you are dumping chemicals into the mine shafts? Think of the possible contamination to their workplace. I should file an OSHA complaint against the Legion.”
“It’s nerve agent,” corrected Lieutenant Lopez. “You should stand back because you really don’t want to get any of this stuff on you.”
“That is exactly my point,” said the mayor. “What are the residual effects of your nerve agent going to be on my city?”
“There may be a few pockets of nerve agent leftover here and there,” advised Lieutenant Lopez. “But most of it will disperse harmlessly after a while.”
They watched as Legion engineers drilled a small hole into the street and down to the first level of tunnels. A compressor pumped nerve agent from tanks into the shaft. Then the engineers sealed the hole and prepared to move on to the next site.
“What if the nerve agent leaks out into the city?” asked the mayor. “The tunnels surely are not airtight.”
“Nerve gas is heavier than air,” said Lieutenant Lopez. “It should not rise up.”
“But what if it does?” asked the mayor. “What about Murphy’s Law?”
“What would you know about Murphy’s Law?” asked Lieutenant Lopez. “Only humans know about Murphy’s Law. I guess it would be bad for the real estate market.”
“Now you make with the jokes?” asked the mayor. “This is totally unacceptable.”
“Back off. You’re getting in the way,” said Lieutenant Lopez, as he hopped aboard the drilling rig and drove off with the engineers. This left the mayor with only Corporal Tonelli to air grievances to.
“I also need to talk about the hostages you recently took,” said the mayor. “Their families insist they have nothing to do with the insurgency and demand release now.”
“They would say that,” said Tonelli. “But attacks are way down now. You have any crackers to go with your whine?”
“At least release the three football players,” said the mayor. “After all, Guido, they are just kids.”
“Wasn’t one of those kids the quarterback?” asked Tonelli. “That’s really a tough break for the team.”
“The whole community is upset about our quarterback getting arrested,” said the mayor. “There is talk that the human pestilence is suffering from a case of sour grapes over losing last week’s game.”
“I’m a soccer fan,” replied Tonelli. “But what is the line on East Finisterra beating New Memphis this weekend?”
“New Memphis is favored by seven and a half points,” said the mayor, pulling out his notes. “That’s mostly because our star players are being detained. Are you interested in placing a bet?”
“Yes, but only through an intermediary,” said Tonelli. “Put me down for $200,000 on East Finisterra High School.”
“That’s quite a bet,” said the mayor, writing down the information. “You know something I don’t know?”
“I’ll get your football players released tomorrow,” promised Tonelli. “They better win.”
“Thank you, Guido,” said the mayor. “I think I’ll be betting the same way.”
“Don’t be talking this up until we get our bets in,” said Tonelli. “We have a chance to clean out those New Memphis bookies big time. I might be calling in some more bets to you later.”
* * * * *
“Where is our five million dollars?” asked the Emperor of the North. “I want to see it.”
“It’s in a safe place,” said G.E.
“What safe place?” asked the Emperor of the North.
“I invested it,” said G.E.
“In what?” asked the Emperor of the North. “What gives you the right? The money belongs to all of us. It belongs to the insurgency.”
“I am the Supreme Commander,” said G.E. “I thought we had already established that. Or are you challenging me?”
“We all want to know where the money is,” said the Emperor of the North. “It is a reasonable request in light of your disappearance for the last couple days. You had better answer the question if you want to live past today.”
G.E. paced uneasily. His handful of Special Forces soldiers were no match for the roomful of insurgents crowded into the safe house. The sheer number of the insurgents gave them instant respect and required an honest explanation about the money. But would they appreciate his answer? Would his own Special Forces troops accept his answer?
“I bet all five million dollars on East Finisterra High School to beat New Memphis in this weekend’s football game,” said G.E. “Let me explain. The game is a lock. It’s in the bag.”
“Kill him!” yelled one of G.E.’s own Special Forces soldiers.
“Wait!” said G.E. as they pressed forward. “I got seven and a half points, and I arranged for our three detained football players to be released by the Legion. Now that we have our quarterback back, it’s a lock. We will double our five million dollars. We can’t lose, and we are getting good odds.”
&nbs
p; The Emperor of the North mulled that over. He looked about to weigh the opinion of the others. They seemed to like the wager.
“Can I get a piece of that action?” asked Ralph Gobind Singh, still blindfolded and sitting in a corner.
“Shut up!” said the Emperor of the North. “They had better win!”
* * * * *
“Corporal Tonelli, we need to talk to you in private,” I said, as Lieutenant Lopez and I inspected Legion positions on and about the Finisterra Bridge. “Come with us.”
“Yes, sir,” said Tonelli. “Did we kill any insurgents today with that nerve gas?”
“No,” replied Lieutenant Lopez “But we exterminated a lot of rodents and a few bums who didn’t get the word to evacuate.”
“We will try again later,” I said. “When they least expect it. So tell me, did you have three of the hostages released?”
“Yes, sir,” said Tonelli. “I thought you would not mind, being that all three were just juveniles.”
“Is that all there is to it?” I asked.
“Yes, sir,” said Tonelli. “Their parents complained to the mayor, who complained to me. I thought that in the interest of good public relations, we should release them.”
“If you lie one more time,” said Lieutenant Lopez. “I will throw you and your dragon off this bridge.”
“But not before I shoot both you and your lizard,” I added. “Spill it. What are you up to?”
Tonelli came clean. By now almost every legionnaire in Finisterra had placed a bet. The point spread increased to eight and a half, on rumors of more fighting and that I might start executing hostages. Lieutenant Lopez and I decided to bet the farm. We went all in. I had a Legion helicopter pick up the Mayor of East Finisterra and fly him to New Memphis to make all the necessary wagers in person with the New Memphis bookies. It was the first time ever no one in East Finisterra shot at our helicopter. Now that is progress, I thought.
America's Galactic Foreign Legion - Book 2: Reenlistment Page 13
