America's Galactic Foreign Legion - Book 3: Silent Invasion

by Walter Knight

  Rustling of underbrush to the commander’s left startled him to the point of immobility. The quickness of the bear-sized wolf allowed the commander only enough time to put a forearm up in self-defense. The huge black hairy monster bit through the commander’s arm like it was a twig. The commander was torn apart in seconds. Wolves were everywhere. The team leader tried to climb a tree. The smooth cedar bark covered by moss and high branches was not conducive to climbing, but he inched up anyway. A large wolf leapt up at the team leader, snatching him from the tree and shaking him like a rag doll. Death came quick.

  * * * * *

  By dawn, spider parts and equipment littered the forest marsh. The mud was discolored red from blood. Legionnaires listened to the horrifying carnage during the night. Hours later, six spider marines stumbled into camp and begged to surrender. They seemed in shock. I told the spiders to keep their weapons, and let them follow us to Finisterra. As we walked, no one talked much about what happened last night, or about what might still happen if we did not get out quick before the sun set again. No one there would ever be able to forget.

  * * * * *

  PRESS RELEASE FROM LEGION HEADQUARTERS IN NEW MEMPHIS:

  Military Governor General Kalipetsis today by executive order decreed that the unprovoked killing of any wolf to be a Class A Felony (capital offense). General Kalipetsis said the wolf is vital to the fragile ecosystem of New Colorado because it rids the forest of invasive pests that cause untold harm to the ecology and the quality of life for all. The General went on to say that the ecology of New Colorado has been so abused by war, radiation, and exploitation that he hoped this one small incremental step would be the first of many steps to undo the extensive damage across the globe. He ordered all Legion units to be sensitive to the environment when planning operations.

  When asked if coyotes and foxes might get similar protection in the future, General Kalipetsis said, “I don’t give a rat’s ass about coyotes and foxes.”

  The general’s order immediately drew praise from the Audubon Society, PETA, ALF, and several Democrats in Congress.

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  Chapter 7

  At Finisterra, the radiation levels were cause for concern. I took anti-radiation pills, but after a while my hair started falling out and my gums started bleeding. The spiders were not affected by the radiation. I’ve been told that cockroaches can survive high levels of radiation, so I guess it makes sense that the spiders would thrive in it.

  My company prepared to move southeast to New Memphis, leaving security to a battalion of Green spiders from the Waterstone National Guard. That was fine with me. Finisterra had no shortage of mud. There was certainly a magnificent supply, and I would not miss the place. There was a lot of economic activity in Finisterra. The miners, mostly spiders, were still digging a fortune of gold out of the Singh Mine.

  Guido, who still had a large storage unit of contraband in Finisterra, announced a going-out-of-business sale open to the general public. The good stuff like SAMs, RPGs, machine guns, and C-4 sold early before I had a chance to check for illegal sales. I did not want any more nukes put on the market.

  Private Wayne was fascinated by a stolen motorcycle Guido had for sale. Guido reduced the price because no one wanted to ride a motorcycle in the North’s cold, wet weather. Guido let Private Wayne take the bike out for a test spin. Private Wayne did a one-wheeler down Main Street, and then sped out of town. He fell in love with the motorcycle.

  “You are a natural biker,” commented Guido, when Wayne returned. “Because you’re my friend, I’ll let the bike go for only $1,500.”

  “I’ll buy it,” said Private Wayne, not even bothering to haggle. “I love the wind and bugs in my face.”

  “Be sure to wear your Kevlar helmet,” warned Guido. “These hogs are dangerous to ride.”

  “What are you going to do?” snickered Corporal Williams. “Become a Hell’s Angel?”

  “I do not believe in either Hell or angels,” said Private Wayne, adjusting his translation device. Sometimes the meanings of word combinations got lost in translation. He accessed the database. Hell’s Angels was an Old Earth criminal motorcycle gang from California. Origins dated back to disaffected servicemen (possibly airmen) from World War Two. The gang was exterminated centuries ago by the United States Galactic Foreign Legion during the California Unrest.

  Private Wayne viewed old photographs and video. He saw Hell’s Angels patches and insignia. Private Wayne was awestruck by the sight of hundreds of Hell’s Angels on motorcycles rumbling down the middle of the road. He saw the brotherhood of it. So what if he was a spider and the Hell’s Angels were just human pestilence? The Hell’s Angels had a military origin, and that was close enough for him. Private Wayne was determined to be a Hell’s Angel.

  When the shuttles took the company to New Memphis, Private Wayne had his motorcycle loaded on board. At first the cargo master gave Private Wayne an argument about the Harley being too heavy and a nonmilitary item, but the big spider slipped him some cash, and all was forgotten.

  At New Memphis, Private Wayne paid to have his motorcycle painted and chopped, like the bikes he saw in the database. He cut the sleeves off an old Legion jacket and put Hell’s Angels patches all over it, including the Winged Death Head patch, and had ‘Hell’s Angels’ emblazoned across the back. ‘New Colorado’ was also displayed, just under the Death Head.

  Private Wayne rode around New Memphis in his new attire. He drew a few stares, mostly from people who had never seen a spider on a motorcycle. The Hell’s Angels were ancient history, so no one paid much attention to the lettering on his back. Private Wayne read in the database that the mortal enemy of the Hell’s Angels was the Mongols Motorcycle Gang. Being that there were no biker bars in New Memphis, Private Wayne sought out the toughest bar he could find to fight his own Mongols. Private Wayne found a tavern called The Longshoreman. It had a sign at the front door that said, ‘No Spiders Allowed.’ Private Wayne walked inside and sat down on a barstool. The biggest ugliest human pestilence he had ever seen immediately confronted him.

  “Can’t you read?” asked the giant human. “The sign says no spiders allowed.”

  “So kick me out,” said Private Wayne. “Or are you chicken?”

  “It is only out of respect for the Legion uniform you are wearing that I don’t throw you through that window,” said the giant. “I used to be in the Legion.”

  “Don’t let that stop you,” said Private Wayne. “I have not killed in days. I am feeling the need again.”

  The giant human felt a bit uncomfortable about getting in a fight with an obviously unstable legionnaire spider. Besides the sleeveless jacket covered with the odd patches, the spider wore several knives. Bulges under his clothing partially concealed handguns. Who knew what else this crazy spider carried?

  “What is Hell’s Angels?” asked the giant. “Are you a spider bible thumper? I don’t think anyone in here wants to be saved.”

  “It is a motorcycle gang,” answered Private Wayne.

  “I saw your bike when you pulled up,” said the giant. “It’s a cool bike. But you must be crazy to come in here with all your flash.”

  “So what is your point?” asked Private Wayne.

  The giant backed away and settled at the end of the bar in front of his drink. As he sipped his whiskey, the giant punched ‘Hell’s Angels’ into the database. Several other customers did the same. Then the giant came back over to Private Wayne and tapped on his shoulder.

  “Finally work up the courage to try and kick me out?” asked Private Wayne enthusiastically. “I knew I would find my Mongol in here.”

  “I don’t know what a Mongol is,” said the giant. “My name is Tiny. I am a longshoreman. I want to join your Hell’s Angels.”

  “No way,” said Private Wayne. “You cannot.”

  “Why not?” asked Tiny, clenching his fists. “Is the Hell’s Angels for spiders only? I checked the database. It said the Hell’s An
gels were founded by veterans. I’m a vet.”

  “No, it is not that,” said Private Wayne. “You do not understand. I just came in here to pick a fight.”

  “Please,” said Tiny. “You have to let me join. I quit the Legion because the fighting and war never seemed to stop. The war just keeps on going in my head. It sometimes drives me crazy, like you. I’ll fight you if that’s what you want, if that’s what I need to do to get into the Hell’s Angels.”

  “No!” said Private Wayne. “I do not want to fight you. Not anymore.”

  Other customers crowded around. “I want to join the Hell’s Angels, too.” said a small man who had been drinking too much. “I’m a vet. I fought in the tunnels back when you spiders first nuked New Colorado.”

  “I am the only Hell’s Angel,” said Private Wayne. “That is why you cannot join!”

  The bar patrons drifted away. A few staggered out to admire Private Wayne’s chopped motorcycle.

  “It doesn’t seem fair,” said Tiny. “If we want to be Hell’s Angels, we should be able to be Hell’s Angels. This is America. It’s a free country.”

  “Fine!” said Private Wayne in frustration. “You can turn this place into a biker bar, and you all can show up next Saturday on your choppers and be Hell’s Angels. See if I care!”

  * * * * *

  A week later, Private Wayne rode his motorcycle back to The Longshoreman Tavern. There were five chopped motorcycles set in a row out front, parked in the handicapped space. The ‘No Spiders Allowed’ sign was missing. Several customers wore sleeveless Legion jackets with Hell’s Angels patches on the backs. Even some females sported Hell’s Angels patches. Biker babes? Private Wayne had read about them on the database, too. There were even spiders in the tavern now.

  As Private Wayne entered, everyone cheered and held up their beers. Tiny gave him a big bear hug. Free drinks were pushed at him. When all the celebrating died down, one of the few spiders in the tavern came over and sat down next to Private Wayne. He wanted to talk.

  “You are a legionnaire?” asked the spider.

  “Yes,” said Private Wayne, sensing hostility. “What is it to you?”

  “Nothing,” said the spider. “Before you turned traitor, what were you then?”

  “I will kill you for that,” said Private Wayne, reaching for his knives and gun.

  “I apologize,” said the spider. “I did not mean anything by that. I was just speaking from habit. What were you before the Legion?”

  “I was an insurgent leader. Before that I was a Special Forces marine commander,” said Private Wayne. “I have never told that to anyone. I do not know why I told you.”

  “I am a special forces team leader that got stranded on a secret mission here in New Memphis,” said the team leader. “I joined the Longshoreman’s Union as a disguise, waiting for the chance to escape New Memphis and to get back to my own lines.”

  “Why are you telling me this?” asked Private Wayne. “I will not help you join your old unit. In fact, I may kill you.”

  “Working on the docks, I heard about you and your Hell’s Angels,” said the team leader. “Everyone is talking about you. I want to join.”

  “Join so you can escape to the North on a motorcycle?” asked Private Wayne. “That will not work.”

  “No, you do not get it!” said the team leader. “I want to join the Hell’s Angels.”

  “It is you who does not get it,” said Private Wayne. “There is no Hell’s Angels.”

  “But I bought a motorcycle,” said the team leader, pointing to the parking lot. “It looks so fine. See how I had it fixed up? I made Hell’s Angels patches and everything. I am ready to ride!”

  With that exclamation, the crowd turned and cheered again. “Ready to ride!” they chanted, carrying the two spiders out to the parking lot and placing them on their bikes. More bikes arrived. One by one, the big Harleys were started up. The rumble of engines and blue smoke was intoxicating. A biker babe hopped on to the back of Private Wayne’s bike and held on tight. Her human body was so hot it caused Private Wayne to sweat, even though it was a chilly night.

  Private Wayne led the pack of Harleys down Elvis Street through the center of New Memphis. Ten bikers and their biker babes flipped the bird to The Man as they passed the Sheriff’s Office. The entire event was recorded and broadcast planet-wide on Channel 7 World News Tonight with Phil Coen.

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  Chapter 8

  At the next peace negotiations meeting, conducted on a large barge north of New Memphis along the New Mississippi River, the spider Fleet Commander demanded the arrest and extradition of Carlos Bonanno.

  “We do not extradite our citizens to hostile nations,” said General Kalipetsis. “Even if they are lowlifes like Bonanno.”

  “Excuse me, but you do, and you will,” said the Fleet Commander. “You signed the Anti-Banditry Resolution. It calls for the extradition of criminals who commit acts of violence and murder across national borders and then seek the protection of those borders. Bonanno’s criminal syndicate is part of a criminal network that spans the galaxy.”

  “So you say,” said General Kalipetsis. “I am still not convinced. I do not want to set a dangerous precedent that may be abused in the future.”

  “I am handing you an Imperial Arrest Warrant for 1,246 counts of murder and terrorism against Carlos Bonanno,” said the Fleet Commander. “This is in regards to the cowardly nuclear bombing of my command starship. Attached is a file containing particulars that include written statements, accounts, and confessions supporting the indictment. Even your own subordinates agree that it is time to wipe out the Mafia once and for all.”

  “My subordinates sometimes act without my authority,” said General Kalipetsis, glancing at me and Lieutenant Lopez. “But that is between us.”

  “Do you accept the validity of the arrest warrant?” asked the Fleet Commander. “Obedience of the law is demanded, not asked for as a favor.”

  “It is a question of national sovereignty,” said General Kalipetsis. “We will not give up any citizen until our relations are normalized. And we certainly will not give in to coercion.”

  “If you can not reign in your dangerous criminal elements, the Empire may be forced to move you back to the original Demilitarized Zone.”

  “If pushing us back to the DMZ is your ultimate goal, you will have a long time to wait,” said General Kalipetsis. “Hell will freeze over before that happens.”

  “My ultimate goal is to see the human pestilence swept from this sector of the galaxy,” said the Fleet Commander. “But the Emperor still believes there is hope for coexistence. Because I am but a servant of the Emperor, I am now sitting here talking to you and trying to be reasonable. Arrest and extradite the mass murderer Carlos Bonanno!”

  “If you are honest about being reasonable, you would withdraw from the oil and uranium fields of the North before war breaks out,” said General Kalipetsis.

  “Oh, get past that,” said the Fleet Commander. “Where would you have us withdraw to? The North Pole? The Arthropodan Empire is here in the North to stay. Get used to it.”

  “Your aggression will not be rewarded,” said General Kalipetsis. “What goes around comes around.”

  “Your slow-walking stall will not be tolerated,” said the Fleet Commander. “You will arrest and extradite Carlos Bonanno in a timely manner, or I will do it for you. Now there is a precedent for you to worry about.”

  “You just want us to leave New Colorado,” said General Kalipetsis. “We will never leave. We brought life to this planet. Before humanity came here, there was no life on New Colorado. We terraformed a barren rock into the lush landscape you see today.”

  “You brought life to New Colorado?” asked the Fleet Commander. “You human pestilence are so arrogant. There has always been life on New Colorado.”

  “There was never life on New Colorado until we brought it here,” said General Kalipetsis. “Prove me wrong if you
can.”

  “Oh?” asked the Fleet Commander. “If there was never life on this planet, how do you explain the existence of oil?” Oil is a fossil fuel. It took an abundance of life millions of years to create the vast oil reserves of this planet. This planet is part of the Arthropodan Empire. It has always been part of the Empire, and it always will be.”

  * * * * *

  “I feel like the world is closing in on me,” said Carlos Bonanno. “I am certain the Legion and the spiders were in collusion to kill my brother Alfonso. And now the spiders want me extradited to Arthropoda? That is not going to happen.”

  “Maybe we can pay someone off,” said Giuseppe Battaglia. “How about that Captain Czerinski and Lieutenant Lopez? They took money at that dragon fight. Maybe they will take money again and do us some favors.”

  “Those two are just attack dogs for the Legion,” said Carlos Bonanno. “We need to pay off someone like General Kalipetsis. The General makes the real decisions.”

  “But Kalipetsis is already against extradition,” said Battaglia. “That would be wasted money.”

  “It would not be wasted. Call it an insurance policy,” said Bonanno. “We need to make sure Kalipetsis does not change his mind. The Family has learned the hard way that we do not want trouble with the Legion. But they can be useful if handled right.”

  “Can the Sheriff do anything for us?” asked Battaglia. “He has been useful in the past.”

  “The Sheriff goes with whoever he thinks is going to win,” said Bonanno. “I should have killed him a long time ago. We need to buy someone who can make things happen. Someone who can get that Fleet Commander and the Emperor off my back.”