America's Galactic Foreign Legion - Book 2: Reenlistment (16 page)

“I’m not going anywhere,” I said “We are the
Legion. I’ve dealt with you spider cops before.”

“You will leave or you will be in a whole
heap of trouble, boy,” said the spider sheriff. “Do it. Do it
now!”

I took a step forward, then hesitated. I
looked at the sheriff’s badge. It had lights on it blinking on and
off. It gave me a headache. Lieutenant Lopez got up off the ground
and staggered over to us. The crowd quieted.

“You need help?” slurred Lieutenant Lopez. “I
think we can take him.”

“I don’t need help,” I said. “But that cop is
blinking on and off. Make him stop.”

“I think you’re concussed again,” said
Lieutenant Lopez. “Our tavern across the Bridge is still open.
Let’s go.”

“You heard the man!” yelled Sergeant Green.
“Free drinks across the bridge at the new City Hall. Captain
Czerinski is buying!”

“There are no freebees next door at the
whorehouse, though,” added Lieutenant Lopez, grabbing me and
pulling me to the armored car.

Spiders and humans loaded into and on top of
the armored car, tanks, pickup trucks, and helicopter, and raced
across the bridge. Surprised legionnaires jumped out of the way as
the convoy smashed the barrier at the bridge checkpoint. At City
Hall, construction was only half completed, but the bar was up and
running, and drunks lined up for their free drinks. The whole party
was put on my card, taxing my line of credit even more than I
thought possible. Oh well. Only poor people die rich.

The hunt for Ralph Gobind Singh resumed at
about noon the next day.

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CHAPTER 13

East Finisterra High School and West
Finisterra High School football teams were meeting in the first
annual Gold Nugget Bowl at the spiders’ home field stadium in East
Finisterra. The mostly spider players of East Finisterra were
faster and quicker than the mostly human West Finisterra team. The
West Finisterra players were larger, and almost always ran the
ball. The Diggers, also known as The Pestilence, were undefeated.
Just coming off impressive victories over the New Disneyland Rats
and the New Memphis Gamblers, the West Finisterra Diggers were up
for the game that would make their year, no matter what happened
during the rest of the schedule.

The stadium was packed. Fans occasionally
fired assault rifles during pregame celebrations. Someone fired off
a flare that drifted slowly to the forty-yard line by parachute. I
watched from atop the turret of my armored car parked just past the
end zone. An ambulance aid car was parked next to me. A truce had
been arranged with the insurgency for the game. The Legion agreed
not to arrest anyone during the game, not to call in any air
strikes, not to shoot anyone, not to man roadblocks around the
stadium, and not to bring tanks anywhere in East Finisterra until
after the game crowds had left. The Insurgency agreed not to set
any bombs, not to kidnap anyone, not to shoot legionnaires, not to
shoot at the helicopter, not to kill Ralph Singh, and not to shoot
any of the referees while the game was in progress. Also, we had to
allow the game to be broadcast on cable TV as well as satellite
TV.

I scanned the crowd with my scope. Both sides
seemed equally well armed. The East Finisterra cheerleaders looked
hideous. I spotted Pam and her sisters working the crowd. The owner
of the Only Tavern had beer kegs lined up to make sure no one got
thirsty. On the referee’s signal, I fired the armored car’s cannon
to begin the first half.

East Finisterra scored first on a hook and
ladder trick play. West Finisterra came back running the straight T
formation right down the field for a score. Trouble began when the
spider quarterback got knocked down by a late hit, and the referee
didn’t call it. Then a spider receiver was knocked down before the
ball got to him, but still no call. The foul was replayed over and
over on the big screen, but it was too late to call the obvious
foul. Upset fans rushed out onto the field and jostled the referee.
I drove the armored car out on to the field and fired off some
machine gun rounds to make fans on both sides back off. The spider
sheriff and some deputies also were out on the field. I ordered
fans off the field, but no one budged. Finally the sheriff arrested
the referee. A deputy cuffed the ref and put him into the back of a
patrol car for transport to the county jail. That seemed to make
most fans happy, and play resumed. The score was 30-28 West
Finisterra at halftime.

Tonight was Homecoming for East Finisterra.
The queen and princesses lined up and waved to the fans. They were
driven around the track in the bed of pickup trucks. The royalty
looked lovely as they hissed and beckoned to their adoring
fans.

The second half was as exciting as the first,
with the game being decided on the last play. West Finisterra
scored, making the count 47-46 East Finisterra. The Diggers didn’t
have a field goal kicker, so once again they had to go for the
two-point conversion. West Finisterra ran a power sweep over the
right side. As the ball carrier made his cut, the muddy turf gave
way, causing the ball carrier to lose his footing and slide to the
ground just short of the goal line. East Finisterra won. Spider
fans rushed out on to the field. Players shook hands and claws, and
promised to be ready for a showdown next year. There was also some
talk about the upcoming basketball season. Then everyone went home.
No one even got killed. That would change soon.

* * * * *

“What shall we blow up today?” asked General
Electric. “A terrorist’s work is never done.”

“I think we can best hurt the human
pestilence by hitting economic targets,” answered the Emperor of
the North. “Today we hit that new Kentucky Fried Chicken restaurant
they just built on Main Street.”

“No way,” said G.E. “That is my favorite
restaurant. I say we should bomb Taco Bell.”

“No,” said the Emperor of the North. “My
girlfriend likes Taco Bell. We went on our first date at Taco Bell.
She would be upset if I bombed Taco Bell. I would get the silent
treatment all week.”

“What about MacDonald’s?” asked G.E. “I heard
they have been diluting their hamburger with oatmeal and soy beans
to save on the cost of their Big Macs. MacDonald’s Corporation
deserves to be bombed.”

“The problem with MacDonald’s is they are
open 24 hours, so we can’t bomb the place after hours,” said the
Emperor of the North. “Most of the employees are spiders. Some of
them are even on the football team, and I don’t want to risk
killing any players when we have a chance to get into the playoffs.
Did you see that game yesterday?”

“I did. That was a great game,” said G.E. “We
stuffed the human pestilence good. That goal line stand at the end
of the game was one for the history books.”

“If we call in a bomb threat on the phone,
they can evacuate MacDonald’s, and no one gets hurt,” suggested the
Emperor of the North. “What do you think?”

“I think it’s too risky,” said G.E. “Our
quarterback is one of the boys working there.”

“I heard the human pestilence has already
cleared land for a new Wal-Mart,” said the Emperor of the North.
“How about we bomb some of the construction equipment just to send
a message? Wal-Mart is one of the largest human corporations. If we
stop Wal-Mart, we will harm their morale big time.”

“Those bastards,” said G.E. “If the human
pestilence thinks they can build a Wal-Mart right in the middle of
East Finisterra, they have grossly underestimated our determination
and resolve. They are so arrogant. We strike at midnight.”

“Some of my fighters are asking for
resolution on Ralph Singh,” advised the Emperor of the North. “Have
you given any thought as to how much ransom we should demand?”

“How about fifty million dollars?” asked G.E.
“I think they will gladly pay that amount.”

“We need to demand at least five hundred
million dollars,” said the Emperor of the North. “We have a lot of
overhead to account for. Everyone who has stayed in the insurgency
expects a cut of the ransom.”

“What?” asked G.E. “I was hoping to just
split it between you and me, with maybe a little left over for the
insurgency. Fifty million dollars is a manageable amount. Five
hundred million dollars couldn’t be hauled away in a dump
truck.”

“The ransom is bigger than you and me,” said
the Emperor of the North. “The purpose of the ransom is to gain
respect for the cause, not for anyone’s profit or personal gain. It
will be used to finance further operations against the human
pestilence. Paying the ransom will humiliate the human
pestilence.”

“Why not ask for a cool billion dollars?”
asked G.E. “Singh is more than good for it.”

“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.