Enemies Read online

  AMERICA’S GALACTIC FOREIGN LEGION

  Book 7: Enemies

  by

  Walter Knight

  Licensed and Produced through

  Penumbra Publishing

  www.PenumbraPublishing.com

  SMASHWORDS EDITION

  EBOOK ISBN/EAN-13: 978-1-935563-46-4

  Copyright 2009 Walter Knight

  All rights reserved

  Cover Art: W.K. Danes

  Also available in PRINT ISBN/EAN-13: 978-1-935563-47-1

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, planets, asteroids, alien species, evil empires, galaxies far, far way, or future events and incidents, are the product of the author’s imagination, or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons or aliens, living or dead, events or locales including those on Mars and New Colorado, is entirely coincidental.

  Licensing Note: This ebook is licensed and sold for your personal enjoyment. Under copyright law, you may not resell, give away, or share copies of this book. You may purchase additional copies of this book for other individuals or direct them to purchase their own copies. If you are reading this book but did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, out of respect for the author’s effort and right to earn income from the work, please contact the publisher or retailer to purchase a legal copy.

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  AMERICA’S GALACTIC FOREIGN LEGION

  Book 7: Enemies

  by

  Walter Knight

  ~TABLE OF CONTENTS~

  Copyright Information

  Author Acknowledgement

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Author Information

  Publisher’s List of Titles

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  AMERICA’S GALACTIC FOREIGN LEGION

  Book 7: Enemies

  The military science-fiction saga twists like a snake trying to bite its own tail in this seventh installment.

  Even the paranoid have enemies. Colonel Joey R. Czerinski knows this, being both paranoid and having enemies himself, some of whom he even calls friends.

  While he goes about his usual routine as local Legion commander at the DMZ on planet New Colorado, he also is busy fixing football and baseball games, placing outrageous bets, cheating others, mocking the media, weaseling out of trouble with his superiors, and generally pissing off everyone around him. Foes new and old do their best to exact the revenge they believe he fully deserves. This only confirms Czerinski’s motto ... Just because you’re paranoid doesn’t mean they aren’t after you.

  To complicate matters, the appearance of a new alien species on the galactic horizon threatens to make life even more difficult on planet New Colorado. Can human and spider enemies make a tentative pact to work together and beat back this new threat, as they did the marauding ants? Or is New Colorado doomed to be overrun and exploited in yet another violent contest of superiority?

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  ~AUTHOR ACKNOWLEDGEMENT~

  I dedicate America’s Galactic Foreign Legion – Book 7: Enemies to American hero James Atlee Wheeler. I also wish to thank Penumbra Publishing editor Patricia Morrison for appreciating that humor can be a difficult thing. A special thanks to my son and computer technical adviser Michael Knight.

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  AMERICA’S GALACTIC FOREIGN LEGION

  Book 7: Enemies

  by

  Walter Knight

  Chapter 1

  American technology enabled humanity to colonize space. There was no United Nations effort to reach the stars. Russia, China, and Japan never built starships – they couldn’t even get to Mars. Anyone who wants to travel the galaxy, does so on American starships.

  And of course, only American military might is capable of defending humanity from the alien empires out there. The first line of defense for humanity is volunteers from the United States Galactic Federation Foreign Legion. The Legion is posted to the very edge of humanity’s frontiers.

  After a series of wars with the Arthropodan Empire, a peace treaty allowed humans and spiders to share the distant planet of New Colorado. To further interspecies harmony, coexistence, and trade, spiders were now allowed to immigrate to humanity’s half of the planet, and were granted U.S.G.F. citizenship. Spiders were even encouraged to enlist in the Foreign Legion. The Arthropodan Empire reciprocated.

  Although the two cultures often clash, similarities are striking. Both spiders and humans love fine dining at McDonald’s Restaurants, shopping at Walmart, getting a jolt in the morning at Starbucks, gambling at casinos, drinking beer, riding Harleys, playing and watching football, and viewing Satellite TV.

  Someday all of New Colorado will be Americanized, but until that day happens, it is my job to face down the Arthropodan Empire across the Demilitarized Zone (DMZ). I am Colonel Joey R. Czerinski, hero of the Legion, Butcher of New Colorado, and nemesis of the Anthropodan Empire and all spiders.

  The only thing worse than a spider terrorist is a human terrorist. After all, humanity invented terrorism. We know how to do it right. Fortunately, I have already killed most of the human terrorists here on New Colorado. The last significant human leader of the insurgency in my military sector was Danny Jesus Grant. I shot Grant in the head and personally buried him in one of my cemeteries. (A while back, I had invested in upscale high-tech cemeteries. It seemed like a good investment at the time.)

  However, informants tell me that Danny Grant is still alive and causing trouble. I don’t see how that can be, but I guess rumors are much harder to kill than men.

  Grant, a Legion deserter turned drug dealer and bank robber, was particularly dangerous because he was a natural organizer and recruiter. A great public speaker, Grant was loved by all who listened to him. He could mesmerize any crowd. Everyone listening thought Grant’s message was directed especially at them.

  Perhaps that explains why people are refusing to believe Grant is really dead. Maybe I should not have buried Grant so fast. I should have put him on display and let the desert flies and maggots nibble on him. Grant was no Messiah. He was just a thug and a deserter, and I killed him. Let the dead stay dead. Good riddance.

  * * * * *

  Danny Grant did not die. He could hear familiar voices coming from aboveground. Someone even called out his name. Grant pushed a fist up through the soft dirt to the fresh air. A rat, startled by the sudden displacement of dirt under its burrow, scrambled to get away. Grant snatched the rat as it fled across his face, and bit into its soft belly. The warm wet flesh brought renewed strength, but Grant needed more. Now sitting still half covered with dirt, he looked about, seeking help.

  “Danny!” exclaimed Al Turner, one of Grant’s former insurgent cohorts. “You’re alive? But the Legion executed and buried you! How could you come back from the dead?”

  “It’s no big deal,” answered Grant, still shivering from the cold ground and spitting out dirt. “I feel fine, except that I’m real thirsty.”

  “It is a big deal,” insisted Turner, handing Grant a water bottle. “You rose from the dead just like Jesus. It’s a miracle. God has touched you.” Turner dropped to his knees.

  Robert Acosta, another insurgent, backed away and crossed himself. “He is a blood-crazed Night of the Living Dead zombie,” accused Aco
sta, holding out a small gold crucifix from a neck chain for protection. “Stay away! Chupacabra!”

  Grant gave the miracle angle some thought as he finished gulping down the bottled water. It was more likely that an embedded human growth hormone microchip in his brain prioritized bodily resources, and made repairs from unneeded tissue. Grant would not be surprised if he no longer had an appendix or ear lobes as his body found sources for replacement tissue. He touched his ears to check. His steel stud and ears were still present. Or, maybe the bullet just bounced off his thick skull. Grant could see how others might think they had witnessed a miracle. How might their superstition be useful? he thought. Grant ran his fingers over the lettering of his tombstone. ‘DANNY JESUS GRANT: Killed by the Legion.’ For sure, Grant knew he was not a blood-crazed zombie like Acosta suggested. He would put an end to that speculation now.

  “The Legion buried me alive,” said Grant. “Colonel Czerinski shot me and buried me alive. Both will pay dearly for this atrocity!”

  * * * * *

  “Someone vandalized the grave site of your old nemesis,” commented Major Lopez, as he drove our jeep to the cemetery. “I thought you might be interested.”

  “Which nemesis is that?” I asked. “I have killed so many.”

  “Danny Grant,” replied Major Lopez. “Someone dug him up and stole the body.”

  “I knew I should have buried him deeper or cremated the fool. That’s what I get for being cheap. No wonder there are so many rumors about Grant still being alive. It was probably insurgents wanting to make an imprint memorial of his brain. Ha! Too bad for them. They waited too long to dig Grant up. The brain is decayed and eaten by worms by now.”

  “It might have been coyotes or wolves scavenging for food,” suggested Major Lopez as we walked to the grave site. “We found fresh blood on the tombstone, and the entrails and tail of a rat in the dirt.”

  “No,” I reasoned. “Scavengers would have left messy body parts. The whole body is missing.”

  “But insurgents only need the head for an imprint memorial. Maybe it was medical students. I hear cadavers are worth a lot of money these days.”

  “There is no shortage of fresh cadavers on New Colorado. Maybe the insurgents were just squeamish about cutting off the head. Or maybe it was just souvenir hunters. Grant’s body will probably turn up in someone’s freezer or in the trash.”

  “Or in one of those ‘See the Thing’ roadside tourist attractions,” offered Major Lopez. “Are you sure Grant is dead?”

  “Of course Grant is dead. No one can survive being shot in the head. I killed him myself. Grant was cold, decaying meat when I put him in the ground. End of story.”

  Major Lopez stared incredulously at the scar on my forehead. I ignored his stare and refused to recall my own miraculous recovery from death on Mars after being shot in the head by loan shark Bubba Jones. My resurrection was the result of recently having a longevity chip imbedded in my body. I was sure Grant could not have had a similar chip imbedded, because shortly after my acquisition, that technology was banned by the government.

  “But look at the grave,” Major Lopez insisted. “The dirt looks like someone pushed their way up. No one dug up this grave.”

  I studied the tombstone’s inscription, ‘DANNY JESUS GRANT: Killed by the Legion.’ “Grant did not rise from this grave. Someone dug him up. It may even have been grave robbers, or cemetery employees looking for jewelry. Some drug addicts will do anything for quick cash. I’ll talk to the cemetery manager to see if anyone suspicious has been hanging around, casing the place.”

  Major Lopez collected the rat’s tail as evidence. He also collected a blood sample for DNA from a hand print left on the tombstone. The DNA would be checked against citizenship files. Lopez photographed the bloody fingerprints and entered them into the Galactic Database. The prints matched Grant’s.

  “It’s just not possible,” I objected. “When I kill someone, they stay dead.”

  * * * * *

  Even paranoid people have enemies, but I don’t worry that much about my many enemies. It’s my friends that worry me most, because friends are close enough to kill me at any time. If Danny Grant is not dead, fine. I will kill him later. But what shall I do about Major Lopez? I suspect that Lopez spies for the spiders. But how do I prove a decorated hero of the Legion has turned traitor for money? The matter is further complicated by the fact that Major Lopez is my best friend, my most competent commander, and a close business associate. For now, I manage Lopez by keeping him close and keeping him busy. I suspect I will still have to shoot him someday, but for now I would rather postpone that unpleasant task. Besides, shooting Lopez isn’t so easy, and could be hazardous for one’s health. If I try it, I’d better not miss.

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  Chapter 2

  “I want Colonel Czerinski killed,” fumed the spider commander of the New Gobi Desert military sector. “Czerinski is responsible for arming human insurgents, and his rogue activities have to be stopped.”

  “Czerinski stopped arming insurgents a long time ago,” commented Major Lopez, deciding not to add that the activity had been his personal pet project, not Czerinski’s. “The Legion now hunts them down. There is no reason for you to hold a grudge for so long.”

  “No longer arming the insurgents? Ha! What about Danny Grant?” asked the spider commander. “The Legion had Grant in custody, and Colonel Czerinski assured me the terrorist would be executed. But you let him go! Just today I reviewed a surveillance video of Grant brazenly robbing a bank right here in New Gobi City. Explain that!”

  “Colonel Czerinski shot Grant in the head and buried him,” answered Major Lopez. “I saw it happen. I was there.”

  “Your own words admit complicity in allowing Grant to escape imperial justice,” accused the spider commander. “Your lies are unacceptable.”

  “The matter is being investigated,” explained Major Lopez. “I have been personally looking into it. If Grant is still alive, which I doubt, I will find him. Grant is an enemy of the Legion, too.”

  “I still want Czerinski dead!”

  “I will not kill Czerinski,” said Major Lopez. “I don’t mind passing along information to you once in a while, but murdering my commanding officer is way too risky for what you pay me.”

  “With Czerinski gone, you would be promoted to take his place,” advised the spider commander. “Think of how much graft and corruption you could bring in then. Besides, Czerinski has been holding you back because you are a threat to his authority. You are a hero of the Legion. You should have been considered for promotion to general a long time ago.”

  “I will not kill Czerinski,” repeated Major Lopez.

  “Fine!” said the spider commander. “Just give me Czerinski’s daily itinerary, and I will kill him myself during one of his troop inspections along the DMZ. It shouldn’t be that difficult.”

  * * * * *

  “Let’s go inspect the troops,” I suggested.

  “I thought you weren’t going to do that until this afternoon,” replied Major Lopez. “The quartermaster is expecting you at the warehouse right after breakfast.”

  “The supply geeks can wait,” I said. “I want to tour the border-crossing checkpoints to make sure legionnaires are watching for Danny Grant, should he attempt a crossing. Did you know Grant robbed a bank on the spider side yesterday?”

  “Yes, I heard,” said Major Lopez. “Mind if I skip the inspection? I have a lot of paperwork to catch up on, and I plan to use all morning to do it.”

  “How did you know about the robbery?” I asked. “It’s not common knowledge yet.”

  “I am your military intelligence officer. It’s my job to know everything.”

  “Screw your paperwork,” I said. “You are coming along with me for a surprise inspection of the checkpoints. Bring that stack of Grant’s photos along for distribution to the guards.”

  We walked from Legion Headquarters to New Gobi City’s main border crossing. Co
rporal Guido Tonelli was supervising searches of trucks. His monitor dragon, Spot, was sniffing for drugs and Big Macs. At the same time, Guido was receiving calls for his thriving sports bookie business. He had managed to get financial backing from an arm of the Bonanno family repatriated to New Memphis after the spiders executed vice kingpin Saviano Juardo.

  Perennial favorite Seattle Seahawks were the eight-point pick to beat the Miami Dolphins in next week’s Super Bowl. “Guido, put me down for five thousand on Miami,” I said, as I returned his salute. “This is going to be easy money.”

  “Are you crazy?” asked Guido. “Everyone is betting on Seattle to three-pete. Even the spiders are betting heavy on Seattle.”

  “What do spiders know about football?” I motioned for Guido to follow me inside the air-conditioned guard shack. “I’ll take the eight points and Miami any day.”

  “We don’t have time to be hanging out at Guido’s shack all day,” complained Major Lopez, staying outside. “There is a lot of ground to cover if we are going to check all the border crossings before lunch.”

  “If you want to stay out in 110-degree heat, go ahead. I’m going to be enjoying Guido’s new air-conditioner. Sometimes I think you’re wound way too tight, Lopez.”

  I handed Guido a photo of Danny Grant robbing the First Arthropodan Bank of New Gobi City. Grant had not even bothered to wear a mask.

  “Grant might try to cross to our side of the DMZ,” I explained. “Make sure your squad is alert and watching for him.”