America's Galactic Foreign Legion - Book 21: Breaking Very Bad Page 10

  “No one likes a snitch. You wouldn’t last a day in prison.”

  “Sticks and stones. I’ll pay you cash, it’s as good as money.”

  “How much?”

  “A lot.”

  “Fine,” I agreed magnanimously. “I’ll put you on an island and give you a soccer ball to talk to.”

  “Thank you, Colonel Czerinski. Anything is better than being nuked. “

  “Think I’m kidding?”

  “You won’t be sorry. Have you considered reenlistment? I see a star in your future. “

  “Anything else?”

  “A cow on a roof.”

  “I was hoping for more.”

  “Together we will make great things happen. I am the last ATM you will ever need.”

  Chapter 19

  Coach Lombardi invited me to give an inspirational speech to his football team. I accepted, always more than happy to provide a positive role model to the youth of all species. After practice, the players gathered to listen intently.

  “Gentlemen, I cannot stress more the importance of giving one-hundred percent on every play. If you get tired and dog it, Coach Lombardi might not catch you, and the fans might not see you, and it might not show up on the film, but you will know. Years from now you will look back to that play and lament the loss of extra effort that might have won the game. ‘If only I had given my all.’

  “For some of you, playing high school football will be the high point of your life, so don’t screw it up. It won’t get better when you graduate. Many of you will join the Legion and get killed or eaten by scorpions. Some will do drugs and be executed. No matter. Go out on that field of honor Friday night and beat the six-point New Memphis spread. If you do, there’ll be a fat stack of cash in your lockers after the game. Winning is everything, losing is nothing. Show me a good loser, I’ll show you a loser without any money or cash!”

  The team erupted in wild cheers. It warmed my heart to see young humans and spiders united in such a noble effort as football, America’s game.

  “Sir?” asked the quarterback. “Is it true the Legion is launching a surprise attack right after the game?”

  “No, it’s much later,” I answered curtly. “But, afterwards, I’d still go straight to the nearest air raid shelter or spider hole. If you win, beer kegs will be left next to the MREs and crackers. I’m buying.”

  “So it’s true? We’re getting nuked?”

  “What are you? A troublemaker?”

  “Just asking.”

  “It’s always prudent to stock up on anti-rad pills and food. Being prepared is part of living on the frontier. Let me worry about the nukes. You just play ball.”

  “But what about the playoffs?”

  “One game at a time. All hands and claws together for a cheer. Be brave, be proud, be courageous, beat the spread!”

  * * * * *

  When the spider commander heard about my pep-talk to the New Gobi High School football team, he scrambled to make a similar inspirational speech to the North Gobi Tarantulas. It was like déjà vu all over again. Raucous music filled the locker room, rattling exoskeletons to the core.

  Turn that Old Earth vermin rat music off!” ordered the spider commander, used to getting immediate attention. “It’s not even music. That deafening noise will cause brain damage in the lot of you.”

  “It’s rap music, not rat music,” corrected a spider player, turning up his earpiece.

  “Pop’s tripping,” added another player.

  “You’re listening to the sound of the human pestilence enemy,” insisted the spider commander, pointing south. “The human pestilence devil lives in rat music.”

  “Even the Emperor and his queen listen to Radio Free America,” argued yet another football player. “I want to be a DJ when I graduate, like Snoop Dogg, Jr.”

  “Dogg is a drug-addled baby-eater like the rest of the human pestilence and their Legion devil leader Colonel Czerinski. The greatest trick the Devil ever perpetrated was convincing the galaxy he doesn’t exist, but I have a top-secret video that proves he does!”

  “We’re getting off topic,” advised the Tarantula coach. “Sir, do you have words of inspiration before the game?”

  “Back in the day, I once ran for seven touchdowns in one game. See if you can top that!”

  “Pops, is it true the human pestilence are planning a surprise attack after the game?”

  “What have you heard?” asked the spider commander in a low voice. The locker room fell deathly quiet.

  “I heard Czerinski hid nukes in his office at Legion Headquarters in violation of treaty.”

  “That bastard!”

  “So, it’s true?” asked the player, much alarmed. “World War XIV starts after the game?”

  “You take care of winning the game. I’ll take care of the nukes. Remember, today is the first day of the rest of your life. You are you, that is true. There is no one alive who is youer than you.”

  “What? The cheese done slid off Pop’s cracker.”

  “I just want to score after the game,” added the quarterback, agreeing.

  Turning up the rap music, the team rose as one in cheer, excited about the start of World War XIV, and maybe getting laid by cheerleaders after the game, before dying. Exciting times.

  * * * * *

  When Michelle Fleet got home late from her double shift at Walmart, she was completely frazzled from all the talk of sneak attacks and world war. A good parent, she fed her cat Duke first before grabbing a TV dinner for herself from the freezer. Michelle had a splitting headache. As she paused to rub her temples for relief, she set her glasses in the freezer.

  What had Colonel Czerinski suggested? she asked herself. Go south, away from populated areas. Michelle started packing, piling clothes and possessions into her Toyota. She didn’t have much, and now she couldn’t find her glasses. Damn it!

  Michelle set Duke lovingly into her car, balanced on top of a stack of laundry. Minutes later, she was southbound into the desert night, hoping to beat the crowd before panic of thermonuclear war clogged the highway.

  * * * * *

  Johnny ‘The Fish’ Tagliano was not a man to be trifled with. All this talk of a sneak attack on the Empire, at the height of the tourist season, was bad for his gambling business. Closing the border was the last straw. Spider gamblers were cancelling reservations at Tagliano’s new casino in New Gobi City, taking their action to New Memphis. Someone was going to pay! Tagliano’s black stretch limousine parked in the loading zone in front of Legion Headquarters. The dump appeared deserted, so Tagliano and his henchmen searched the place.

  “Czerinski! What’s this I hear about nuking the damn spiders?” demanded Tagliano, shaking me awake from a blissful hangover.

  “What?” I asked groggily. “Don’t believe everything you read on the database.”

  “So, the Drudge Report is full of shit? You’re not nuking anyone?”

  “Of course not ... not that I know of. It’s a violation of the Nonproliferation Treaty for me to even have nukes on the DMZ.”

  “Boss,” interrupted on of the henchmen coming out of the bathroom. “The shower is full of nukes.”

  “I thought we had history,” lamented Tagliano, wagging his finger at me and drawing his pistol. “You’re going for a ride. If you’ve started a war, you’re going to swim with the fishes.”

  “That’s your answer to everything,” I argued. “Swim with the fishes. What fishes? This is the desert. Hello, there are no fishes.”

  “No one likes a smart-ass,” advised Tagliano, backhanding me across the face. “I should do you now, but I value what goodwill I have left with the Legion.”

  “Calm down! There will be no war until after the high school game.”

  “Who is the smart money on?”

  “New Gobi High,” I answered conspiratorially. “I just released their whole backfield from jail. It’s a sure thing with the points.”

  “You’re still taking a ride south w
ith us until I sort this out. Nothing personal. It’s just business.”

  * * * * *

  Tagliano’s limousine raced eastbound, approaching a remote desert intersection as Michelle drove southbound. At night, without her glasses, Michelle missed the stop sign, T-boning the limo. It was ugly. The limo was almost cut in half. Nukes spilled out of the trunk onto the roadway.

  Scorpion bandits, always alert for opportunity, emerged from the dunes for easy pickings. They threw deflective camouflage netting over the vehicles to conceal the accident from satellite imagery and GPS tracking. Bodies were sprawled everywhere. It was like a road kill buffet for the always hungry scorpions. Human flesh. Yum, yum!

  Headlights crested a small rise northbound. A UPS express truck loaded with nuclear warhead Howitzer adaptor kits plowed into the camouflage, scattering feeding scorpions like kicking open a termite mound, except different, with lots of explosions, gore, and mayhem.

  Michelle woke dazed to airbags and a dead scorpion draped over her windshield, its stinger piercing her shoulder. Weeping, Michelle gathered Duke’s limp body, cradling the poor lifeless cat as she staggered from the car. Bastards! She picked up a scorpion assault rifle lying on the ground and began shooting all that moved. She threw several grenades at the scorpions for good measure.

  Tagliano ran off into the darkness. I crawled for cover, my leg a bloody useless mess. The movement drew Michelle’s attention. She lorded over me like some sort of female Rambo, screaming, “I’m not taking it anymore!” as she finished off a couple more injured scorpions. “You want war, I’ll give you war!”

  “Don’t go all PMS on me,” I replied, not my best choice of words when dealing with an irate female Walmart greeter wielding an assault rifle. “Remember me?”

  “You! I’ll show you PMS!”

  “I can save your cat,” I offered desperately. “I’m EMS trained. You have beautiful hair and lovely eyes.”

  “Oh?” She softened with a smile, setting Duke by my side. “Can you do CPR?”

  “Certainly,” I replied, starting chest compressions and mouth-to-nose quick breaths. I spit out several hairballs before Duke magically came to life. Truly that cat had nine lives.

  Ecstatic, Michelle dropped her weapon, hugging and kissing Duke. The cat was foaming at the mouth, but still clinging to life. Its eyes glowed red in the dark. What the hell? Its head did a 360. Oh shit, not good!

  A scorpion attacked, its stinger poised, but the Duke of Death leaped at the bandit’s throat, tearing it out and feeding from the goo that spewed forth. Oh shit, again. I tried backing away as Michelle patted the growling Duke on the head. Good kitty.

  “What am I going to do?” asked Michelle, noticing me trying to leave. “You’re starting a war. I wrecked my car, losing everything I owned, which is nothing. All I have left in the world is Duke. It’s not fair!” Michelle shot another scorpion as it tried to drag itself from under the burning UPS truck. “Have a nice day!” she mocked, “scorpion mother-fucker!” That moment, sweet Michelle went over to the Dark Side.

  “I need to get back to camp,” I replied, feeling a tingle of life come back to my injured leg. “But I need you to lean on.”

  “The world does not revolve around you and your precious Legion,” snarled Michelle, now hunting for more scorpions. “Go to Hell!”

  “I have to report these nukes,” I argued reasonably. “It would be irresponsible to just leave them lying about. Can I borrow your phone?”

  “You, you, you! What about me? I quit my job. I have nothing. I’m stuck in a desert full of scorpions with no car, and all you care about is losing your nukes?”

  “Lend me your phone, and I’ll get you a great job with fantastic medical benefits, a signing bonus, and veterinary coverage for small animals.”

  “What?”

  “You will have responsibility and job satisfaction.”

  “More job responsibility than Walmart?”

  “Lots more. Enlist in America’s Galactic Foreign Legion. You will enjoy fun, travel, and adventure, killing new species across the galaxy. Already you seem to have a knack for it. Did I mention you have beautiful hair?”

  “You think my hair is belle?” asked Michelle, still weepy. “But, what about Duke? I can’t just leave Duke.”

  “Local commander’s prerogative allows me to waive quarantine restrictions on recruit pet ownership, and allow your Cat from Hell to join the Legion, too. I can even include a signing bonus for Duke under affirmative action quotas. Together, you will be an army of one and a half. I see adventure of cosmetic proportions in your future. It’s time for your ship to finally come in. You will kick alien ass across the galaxy. You go, girl!”

  “Do you really think I have beautiful hair?”

  “Just help me stand. You have the loveliest mop in all the galaxy. The sun pales beside your dishwater blond dye-job. It’s perfectly cut, with no split ends, and optimizes your facial features.”

  “I’ll do it! I’m joining the Foreign Legion. You hear that, Duke? We’re not taking it anymore. We’re going to kick alien ass for the Legion, and I’m going to sue UPS and Walmart for 3.5 million!”

  * * * * *

  Want to sue somebody? Call Saul: http://www.bettercallsaul.com/testimonials.php

  Chapter 20

  It was a dark and stormy night. Really? Yes. Rain finally came to the desert, bringing life, and rain. Yes, I said that, too. There was an overflow crowd at the football game between the New Gobi High Jackrabbits and the North Gobi Tarantulas. Security was tight, but spider fans were allowed to cross the border for the traditional yearly showdown. Everyone was searched before entering the stadium, and armored cars stood by with machine guns ready.

  The Jackrabbits ran the opening kickoff back for a touchdown. The ball carrier followed a power wedge of linemen that crunched exoskeletons along the way. The Jackrabbits’ ground game was unstoppable, going up 35-7 at halftime. General Daly called me as the second half was about to start. “Launch the attack,” he ordered.

  “Now? We’re up 35-7.”

  “Did you bet on the game?” asked General Daly, furiously accessing legionnaire helmet cameras. He caught Major Lopez taking a piss on a cactus. “Bendaho!”

  “Of course I have money on the game,” I answered. “It’s a sure thing.”

  “You jeopardized security, letting all those spiders across the border on the eve of our surprise attack.”

  “Sir, we talked about your micro-managing,” I argued. “You have to delay the surprise attack until the game is over. It’s the only humane thing to do.”

  “Nukes are already in the air. Take cover.”

  “But I can’t collect unless the game is finished.”

  “Not my problem.”

  I scanned the horizon. Bright white flashes silhouetted distant peaks and ridges. Maybe it was lightning. Probably not. An air-raid siren sounded, but I overrode the alarm to turn it off. The game would continue. I made a public service announcement on the PA. “The siren you heard earlier was a test of the Emergency Broadcast System. Same goes for whatever you’re seeing on the database. You can’t believe everything you read on the database anyway. In the event of a natural disaster or planet-ending thermonuclear war, you would be ordered to the nearest underground public shelter. Platinum Sam’s Club members may go to Walmart to loot weapons, food, liquor, or seek bucket-list sex. Personally, that’s how I want to go if I’m going to get vaporized, my shadow permanently etched on a wall doing nasty shit. But I regress. It won’t do much good to hide in a hole or at Walmart. If you ever got nuked for real, just bend over and kiss your ass goodbye. Enjoy the second half of tonight’s game. Rabbits rule!”

  * * * * *

  As the Tarantulas received the kickoff starting the third quarter, the storm got worse. More bright flashes lit the skyline, followed by ominous thunder. The rain turn to clay-like mud falling from the sky, covering the field, players, and the stands. Slipping and sliding, a speedy Tarantula running back
returned the kickoff for a touchdown. Back at you!

  Concerned about the raining mud, just to be cautious, I ordered Legion medics to pass out double doses of anti-radiation pills to Jackrabbit players and fans. As the mud fell, it seemed to favor spider players. They easily scampered over the wet clay, leaving the heavier human players in their wake. What the hell? It was soon 35-21, then 35-28. Enough! I was about to shoot someone. Major Lopez radioed me with an urgent message. “It’s World War 14. Where are you?”

  “Still at the game. At this rate, we’re going into overtime.”

  “Are you insane? That mud falling is radioactive fallout. Take cover in your command bunker. As soon as I can install the Howitzer adaptor kits, I’ll nuke North Gobi.”

  “Not until my order!”

  “If we wait, the element of surprise will be lost,” cautioned Major Lopez. “It’s a miracle we haven’t already been nuked by the spiders.”

  “I have strategic reason for delay. It’s my rope-a-dopy spider plan.”

  “Do you have money on the game?”

  “I’m all in.”

  “I knew it!”

  “Do nothing until I give the green light,” I insisted. “I’ll fire a green flare across the DMZ. Understand?”

  “No!”

  “Major, trust me on this.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  * * * * *

  The Tarantulas quickly scored again, tying the Jackrabbits at 35. The spider commander led a platoon of marine bodyguards across the field, interrupting play. He fired a pistol into the air to get my attention. “Czerinski! Are you nuts starting a war?”

  “That’s a side issue,” I replied innocently. “I didn’t do it. No one has been nuked here, yet.”

  “Only the presence of civilians at this game prevents a full-measured retaliatory strike from the Empire. Millions have already been nuked across the planet!”