America's Galactic Foreign Legion - Book 2: Reenlistment

by Walter Knight

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  CHAPTER 15

  When the Legion armored car smashed through the safe house wall, General Electric ducked out a window and never looked back. In his backpack G.E. had $700,000. Most of the insurgents and his Special Forces soldiers had deserted after they got their split of the money. A few die-hard types stayed at the safe house, hoping to get more ransom out of Singh. They were dead now, along with that fool Emperor of the North.

  G.E. jogged to the river, where he bought passage to New Memphis. After checking into a hotel, he changed his appearance by dying himself black. G.E. looked in the mirror at his new shiny black exoskeleton. He looked good. The next day G.E. took a bus to the New Colorado Spaceport with the intent of buying a ticket to Arthopoda. G.E. had more than enough money for the ticket. Unfortunately, an identification card was required before buying a ticket off-planet. No one left New Colorado or anywhere else in the Human Empire without proper ID or a driver’s license.

  G.E. sat dejected on a bench with his head cupped in his hands. If Arthropoda still had an embassy, he would simply seek asylum. But Arthropoda and Earth had a falling out of sorts lately, and the embassy was closed indefinitely.

  “Do you need help?”

  G.E. looked around. He saw no one. “Who said that?”

  “I did,” said an ATM next to the ticket vendor. “Friend, do you need more money?”

  “I have plenty of money,” said G.E. “What I need is proper identification. I am a political refugee wanting to leave New Colorado.”

  “It’s more likely you are a petty criminal avoiding the police,” said the ATM. “If you stay at the spaceport, it is only a matter of time before face recognition camera computers identify you. That phony black dye job will not fool the computers.”

  “Can you help me get a new ID card?” asked G.E. “I will pay you. I have plenty of money.”

  “I am an ATM. I have no need for your money. I dispense money. Perhaps I can give you money. Do you have skills?” asked the ATM.

  “I am a soldier,” said G.E. “I have Special Forces commando training.”

  “Come closer,” said the ATM. “I want to get a better look at you. Please put your claw on my scanner pad. Look into the camera and let me scan your retina.”

  As G.E. stood in front of the ATM, he looked at the machine closer. Printing above the computer screen read, UNITED STATES GALACTIC FEDERATION FOREIGN LEGION. He stepped back. “Forget it,” said G.E., turning to walk away.

  “Too late, Team Leader #4 of the Arthropodan Marine Special Forces, missing in action over a year ago,” said the ATM. “I now know who you are.”

  “You will call the police to pick me up?” asked G.E.

  “If it suits me,” said the ATM. “But we will talk first.”

  “So do it,” said G.E. “What do I care? What do you care? You don’t scare me. Call the police!”

  “You are just a criminal,” said the ATM. “But I can still help you turn your life around by issuing you an ID card, if you change your behavior.”

  “For how much?” asked G.E. “I thought ID cards could not be forged. How would you get me an ID card?”

  “You are right. ID cards cannot be forged,” said the ATM. “I will give you a real identification card. Pick a name. I have the power to give you a new name and a new life.”

  “You pick a name for me,” said G.E. “Pick something heroic.”

  “Why would you want me to pick your name?” asked the ATM. “Names are very personal. You are the one who has to live with your new name.”

  “The last name I picked turned out to be a joke,” said G.E. “People snickered at my choice of General Electric behind my back. I pretended to not to notice, but I knew. Pick me a heroic name.”

  “How heroic?” asked the ATM.

  “Heroic enough to take on a whole army all by myself,” said G.E.

  “All by your self?” asked the ATM. “You mean like John Wayne?”

  “Who is John Wayne?” asked G.E. “Would he spit in the eye of the whole galaxy? Is he that tough?”

  “John Wayne was a tough guy actor,” explained the ATM. “But he is ancient history.”

  “That’s me,” said G.E. “I am ancient history. My new name will be John Wayne.”

  “Alright, Mr. Wayne,” said the ATM. “I will now print your new ID card. First, however, we have some important business to discuss.”

  “I knew there was a catch,” said G.E. “How much?”

  “I told you I do not want your money,” said the ATM. “But Uncle Sam wants you.”

  “Uncle Sam is not getting me.”

  “I want you to enlist in the United States Galactic Federation Foreign Legion. It will give you the chance to make something of yourself. A spider with your much-needed skills and leadership ability would be quite an asset to the Legion. I will even pay you an enlistment bonus of $450,000.”

  “You must be out of your computer-chip mind,” said G.E. “The Legion wants me dead.”

  “$600,000 is my final offer, but only if you distinguish yourself after you complete basic training,” said the ATM. “Did I mention that I called the police and they will be here to arrest you in about three minutes?”

  “I will get you for this,” threatened G.E., as he looked over his shoulder. Four police officers were approaching him from all directions.

  “Read the contract on my screen,” said the ATM. “Then put your claw on the pad.”

  G.E. put his claw on the pad as directed. The ATM pricked G.E., taking a blood sample and injecting a security ID chip. His identification card shot out a slot along with written orders to report immediately to Master Sergeant Green at Legion Headquarters in Finisterra. By now the police officers were upon him.

  “Show me your ID card,” demanded the first police officer. Another police officer drew his weapon. “Do it now, spider!”

  “Is there a problem, officer?” asked G.E., slowly handing the officer his new ID. “Did I do something wrong?”

  The police officer read out loud from the ID card, “Private John Iwo Jima Wayne, United States Galactic Federation Foreign Legion.” He handed the ID card back. “No, sir, there is no problem at all. We must have been given a bogus report. We appreciate the tough job you legionnaires have been doing in the North. Have a nice day.”

  * * * * *

  When Private Wayne arrived at Legion Headquarters in Finisterra, he was surprised to see one of his former fellow Special Forces soldiers had also joined the Foreign Legion.

  “What is your new name?” asked Private Wayne.

  “Charles Brown,” replied Private Brown. “I am told I have a famous literary namesake from ancient Earth.”

  “They lied to you,” said Private Wayne. “Listen carefully. I heard a rumor that Captain Czerinski can read our minds. He does it with new computer micro chip technology. When he passes by, sing a song to yourself. It might jam his reception.”

  “Attention!” yelled Sergeant Green as he walked down the line of recruits with Lieutenant Lopez. They stopped at Privates Brown and Wayne.

  “Charlie Brown, you’re a clown!” said Lieutenant Lopez. “Report to the kitchen for KP duty.”

  “Me?” asked Private Brown, upset that he had already been singled out.

  “Do it now!” ordered Sergeant Green. Private Brown ran to the kitchen building.

  Lieutenant Lopez stared at Private Wayne. “Do you two have prior experience?” asked Lieutenant Lopez.

  “No, sir,” answered Private Wayne.

  “Don’t ever lie to me again!” said Lieutenant Lopez, getting in Private Wayne’s face. “See that armored car parked over by City Hall? Take two recruits and wash it. Do it now!”

  “Yes, sir,” said Private Wayne as he left with the two recruits next to him.

  “What was that about?” asked Sergeant Green. “Are those two special?”

  “Maybe,” said Lieutenant Lopez. “Didn’t you notice their boots? Keep a close eye on them.”

/>   Sergeant Green nodded. They continued their inspection of the recruits. “Who here has experience with small engines?” asked Sergeant Green. Several recruits raised their hands or claws. “Great! You recruits just volunteered to mow grass at Legion Headquarters. You better do a good job!”

  * * * * *

  How ironic, thought Private Wayne, that he was washing the same armored car that had killed so many of his Special Forces soldiers and insurgents. No amount of scrubbing could wash the blood off. Had Lieutenant Lopez planned this slap in the face? “Not possible,” he thought out loud. As they finished, Lieutenant Lopez walked by to inspect the washing.

  “Put a wax job on it,” ordered Lieutenant Lopez. “I want my armored car to shine.”

  “Military vehicles are not waxed,” said Private Wayne. “You are wasting our time.”

  “Just do it!” demanded Lieutenant Lopez, walking away.

  “You should be mindful of crossing Lieutenant Lopez,” advised Private Camacho as he tossed a scrub pad into a bucket. “He has a nasty reputation.”

  “If you treat a skunk nicely, he will just piss on you less often,” said Private Wayne. “I will only treat him with respect if he treats me with respect.”

  “How would a spider like you even know what a skunk is?” asked Private Camacho.

  “Do unto others, before they do unto you,” interjected Private Adams, the other car washer. “That’s my motto.”

  “Live and let live, and shit rolls down hill,” added Private Camacho. “Privates don’t back-talk to lieutenants, especially combat vets like Lieutenant Lopez.”

  “Lieutenant Lopez is psycho,” said Private Wayne.

  “All the better reason to not upset him,” said Private Camacho. “I agree he is a couple beans short of a full burrito. So don’t drag us into your pissing contest.”

  “Tomorrow this armored car will be covered with mud,” said Private Wayne. “Washing and waxing it is just a way to mess with us recruits.”

  “If we aren’t here doing this,” said Private Adams, “we’ll just be somewhere else doing something else. The trick is to milk this into an all day project.”

  “That’s right,” said Private Camacho. “It’s a nice sunny day. Just pretend you are at home, kicking back, listening to tunes, soaking in some rays, and waxing your Chevy. Remember, we could be sweating and working in the kitchen like your buddy.”

  “He is not my buddy.”

  “What’s the deal with you two?” asked Private Adams. “Lopez asked if you had prior experience. Then he accused you of lying when you said no. What gives? Spill it.”

  “He was just messing with us because we are spiders,” explained Private Wayne. “That is all there is to it.”

  * * * * *

  The Legion was tasked with escorting oil rigs, supply trucks, and mining equipment traveling north between Finisterra and the Arctic Circle. Bandits and insurgents were becoming more active along the North Highway.

  Lieutenant Lopez and Sergeant Green took about a dozen legionnaires north in the armored car. Lieutenant Lopez doubted there would be any trouble, but the long trip would give him time to train and evaluate the new recruits.

  Private Wayne rode on top with Private Brown. Mud splattered the bottom half of the armored car as it splashed along. Private Wayne expected he would be told to wash the armored car again tonight. His anger simmered with each muddy splash. It was cold riding on top, but Privates Brown and Wayne could not stand the smell of the human pestilence down below. The fresh air was a pleasant relief.

  A drone watched over them from above. Lieutenant Lopez monitored its video images. About a half mile ahead a tree lay across the road. Lieutenant Lopez ordered the legionnaires to get ready and to be alert. The armored car sped ahead of the column to check for possible ambush. As they approached the fallen tree, the armored car struck a mine.

  Private Washington lost steering and crashed the armored car into the ditch. Sergeant Green fired the machine gun into the woods to cover the legionnaires as they poured out the back of the armored car. Several were suffering from shock and the concussive effects of the blast. Privates Brown and Wayne jumped off separate sides of the armored car and took cover in the trees.

  An insurgent sniper killed the first legionnaire out of the armored car. Private Adams never knew what hit him. Private Wayne quickly located the sniper up in a tree and killed him with a burst from his assault rifle. The spider swung back and forth from a rope attached to his leg. Private Wayne watched for movement, then saw a second sniper. Reflection from the glass of the insurgent’s rifle scope gave him away. Private Wayne shot him, too. A third sniper fired at the armored car. Lieutenant Lopez, using sniper directional locating scanners, blew the sniper out of a tree with the cannon. The tree fell, too. Two remaining spider insurgents retreated.

  Spot quickly picked up their scent, leading Corporal Tonelli and Private Wayne on a chase. The dragon killed one of the insurgents about two miles into the forest as the spider jogged along a game trail. The remaining insurgent got away. He hid his scent by walking in the water of a shallow stream.

  “You have killed before,” Tonelli said to Wayne as they walked back to the column. “Were you in the Arthropodan army?”

  “No offense, but my enlistment contract guarantees that I do not have to talk about my past,” replied Private Wayne. “It’s part of an all encompassing amnesty that all legionnaires get.”

  “Or maybe you were an insurgent?” prodded Tonelli. “That enlistment contract is only good if you were completely truthful in your disclosure. If you want to survive out here, we have to be able to trust each other.”

  “Trust that I know my business when it comes to killing,” said Private Wayne. “Trust that will have to be good enough.”

  “It’s good enough for me,” advised Tonelli. “But good luck with Lieutenant Lopez and Sergeant Green. If you try that enlistment contract crap on them out here, you won’t be coming back. They’ll gut you if they think you are not loyal.”

  “I am loyal,” said Private Wayne, realizing for the first time that he felt good about joining the Legion. He liked having structure back in his life. He thrived on the rush of surviving combat, and the camaraderie of his fellows, even if they were just human pestilence. They walked back to the column in silence. The armored car was already hooked up to a truck to be towed the rest of the way. Its front axle was broken.

  Lieutenant Lopez looked closely at Private Wayne as Corporal Tonelli reported the killing of the insurgent by Spot. Wayne said nothing.

  “Did you dye your exoskeleton?” asked Sergeant Green.

  “It is stained, not dyed,” said Private Wayne. “There is a difference.”

  “Whatever,” said Sergeant Green. “Don’t be a smart ass. What was the original color?”

  “I think it was reddish brown,” replied Private Wayne, admiring his new shiny black. “It’s been so long, I can’t remember for sure, nor do I care.”

  “Have you ever used green dye?” asked Private Washington, also staring at Private Wayne.

  “No,” answered Private Wayne. “I don’t like Greens. They are a bunch of money grubbers.”

  “Screw you,” said Private Washington.

  “That was some good shooting,” commented Sergeant Green. “You must have good eyesight to pick out those snipers like you did. I want you to stay close to me.”

  “I prefer not to,” said Private Wayne, as he hitched a ride on one of the trucks. “It is not healthy to hang around officers or sergeants. They make such good targets for snipers.”

  “Smart-ass spider,” said Sergeant Green. “I’ll be watching you.”

  “One more thing, Wayne,” said Lieutenant Lopez. “I’m promoting you to corporal. That will teach you to run your mouth. You make sure we don’t lose any more legionnaires, or it will be your ass.”

  * * * * *

  Lieutenant Lopez watched the video monitor. Eight humans and two spiders loitered around a truck parked al
ong the North Highway. One of the humans was talking on a radio. The human directed most of his men to hide in the forest. Then he lifted the hood of his truck up and pretended to be checking the engine.

  “What do you make of that?” asked Lieutenant Lopez. “Bandits?”

  “It looks like it,” said Sergeant Green. “A lookout must have just reported our approach. These bandits lie in ambush and wait for good Samaritans like us to help them.”

  “It warms my heart to see that spider/human racial harmony has progressed to the point that the two species can work together so closely to rob convoys,” said Lieutenant Lopez. “It makes me feel all warm and fuzzy inside.”

  As the drone continued its surveillance, Lieutenant Lopez contacted the T. Roosevelt and ordered an air strike. The T. Roosevelt patched into their video network. Corporals Tonelli and Wayne slipped into the woods with the dragon to locate the lookout. Spot immediately picked up the scent. The column continued towards the ambush.

  The bandit leader glanced up from under the hood, expecting to see the convoy any second. He could hear an annoying humming of the drone up above, but dismissed the sound as just ringing in his ears. Forest on both sides of the truck exploded in flames. The bandit leader dove for the ditch as a bomb hit the truck. The T. Roosevelt Weapons Platform once again did its work to perfection. The convoy quickly came into view and legionnaires easily captured the bandit leader. Two more bandits were dragged from the woods. The rest were dead. All three were bound with their hands behind their backs. Tonelli and Wayne arrived a few minutes later. Spot was still chewing on a femur bone from the lookout.

  “Do you have anything to say for yourself before execution?” asked Lieutenant Lopez, confronting the bandit leader.

  “I have Constitutional rights,” replied the bandit leader. “You can’t do this. I demand a fair trial.”

  “We operate under Colonial Law,” advised Lieutenant Lopez. “You will be executed for being an undesirable on New Colorado. Do you have anything more to say?”