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  “This is Phil Coen from Channel Five World News Tonight, broadcasting live from the New Colorado South Pole, where a crack squad of veteran legionnaires defended this very beach from an unprovoked spider invasion. Led by Sergeant Morris Nesbit and Corporal Guido Tonelli, these brave legionnaires almost gave the ultimate sacrifice to repel this latest Arthropodan adventurism. Standing beside me is Sergeant Nesbit. Sergeant, care to speculate why the spiders are interested in the South Pole?”

  “There’s oil under the South Pole,” answered Nesbit. “Gold too,” I advised, walking away from my beach chair and rifle still frozen in the ice beside it. “And magic mushrooms,” added Pierce. “Millions of them hidden under the ice, kept warm by the krill.” “It’s a disgrace we were left here all by ourselves, what with Polar tensions running so high,” commented Guido. “Colonel Czerinski and the whole First Division should be down here defending the South Pole.”

  “Did you say gold?” asked Coen, putting a microphone to my face. “I find that hard to believe.”

  “Then believe this!” said Shaky Jake, grabbing the microphone and holding out a couple of small gold nuggets he had squirreled away from prospecting the North. Cameras zoomed in on the glittering nuggets.

  “Well there you have it, straight from the Great Frozen South!” exclaimed Coen. “Let the gold rush begin!”

  As the crowd of reporters gathered around Shaky Jake for more details, Coen pulled me off to the side. “What’s with the frunk colony sign?” he asked.

  “Off the record?” I asked.

  “Sure,” lied Coen.

  “We’re doing secret microbe research for the military,” I whispered, handing Coen my orientation pamphlet as proof. “And there is something funny going on with the penguins too. Don’t tell anyone. They might be sentient.”

  * * * * *

  Colonel Czerinski transferred us again for rumor-mongering. The South Pole was not isolated enough to contain us. We were ordered to Caldera Lake, a lonely and isolated swamp, home to a ghost town from the real estate bubble. Crocs outnumber people and spiders. Both the Legion and the Empire maintained small garrisons at Caldera Lake to keep an eye on each other.

  * * * * *

  AP News Report

  Human rights activists on Planet New Colorado issued a statement today decrying the inhumane living conditions at the USGF Frunk Colony & Sanatorium at the South Pole. “Permanent forced quarantine of frunk victims at this polar concentration camp under harsh and deplorable conditions is a violation of basic human rights, and the Constitution,” advised leading human rights activist and spokesperson Chris Spruel. “The sooner this detention center is dismantled, the better.”

  General Lopez, Legion Commander on New Colorado, denied the existence of polar concentration camps, saying in a prepared statement, “All we have at the South Pole is a simple weather station. Spruel is a fool. Future travel to the South Pole is restricted by permit.”

  The Arthropodan Supreme Commander for the Northern Territory advised reporters on spider Cable TV today that satellite recognizance proves beyond any doubt the human pestilence maintains a vast gulag system at the South Pole and demanded neutral Red Cross inspectors be allowed to investigate. The Supreme Commander denied reports of an Arthropodan submarine lurking at the South Pole, spying on a suspected Legion biological warfare research facility. Biological warfare on New Colorado is banned by treaty. The Supreme Commander also denied there was an escalation of the arms race or a buildup of the Arthropodan navy, and would not even confirm the existence of a new submarine. However, images of the new submarine were caught on helmet camera video during the spiders’ recent failed attack on the South Pole. The Supreme Commander described the recent spider marine landing at the Pole as ‘an exploratory research mission allowed by treaty.’

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  Chapter 12

  Master Sergeant Green joined us at Caldera Lake. Green’s habit of carrying that scythe everywhere finally irritated Colonel Czerinski enough to transfer Green. Out of site out of mind, as they say. Stepping off the shuttle, Green seemed at ease, having served here before. Immediately Green ran limping to the lake, waving his scythe overhead.

  “Where are you going?” I called out. “Croc hunting! I’m going to skewer me a steak for the barbeque!” “Crocs are edible?” I asked, following. I felt a need to somehow make up for shooting his foot. “Need any help?” “You can make yourself useful by jumping in the lake for a swim!” advised Sergeant Green, scanning for crocs. “It looks safe enough.”

  “You want me to be croc bait?” I asked, stripping off my clothes. It was at least 112 degrees, and the water looked inviting. Still, I had doubts about swimming with crocs.

  “Trust me, you have nothing to worry about,” promised Sergeant Green. “I’ll yell if I see a croc. I just need you to splash around a bit to get their attention. Then you can come out!”

  Shaky Jake and Pierce approached as I jumped in. “It’s really not bad!” I yelled to shore. “Come on in. Sergeant Green gave us all the day off for a swim!”

  “Yes!” shouted Pierce, jumping in.

  “I don’t think so,” Shaky Jake said, holding back, eying the shoreline.

  I heard several splashes in the water down the beach, hidden by high reeds, but was enjoying my dip in the water too much to be really concerned. Besides, Sergeant Green had our backs.

  “Only tourists go swimming in that lake,” commented Guido, shaking his head.

  “Come on!” I challenged. “Chicken! There’s no crocs here. I’m not afraid of no crocs!”

  Shaky Jake and Guido rejected my challenge. Instead, they were talking to a game warden. The game warden pointed at me. Guido nodded. Then the game warden spoke into a portable loud speaker.

  “Are you Crisp? Private Donald Crisp the Third?” “Yes!” I answered. “What’s it to you?” “Sir, I’m afraid that you are banned from bathing in Caldera Lake! Come out of the water! Do it now!” “I will not! What’s this all about?” “Come to shore!” “There must be some mistake,” I insisted, refusing to leave the water without an explanation. “There is no mistake! A computer check shows you are on the Communicable Disease Watch List issued by Homeland Security!” “Nonsense! I haven’t been laid by a human since coming to New Colorado!” “Computers do not lie! You were quarantined to the South Pole after catching the frunk. Yes, it is all over the database news. We cannot risk our crocs catching the frunk from a carrier like you. If crocs catch the frunk, it could upset the whole Caldera ecosystem. Crocs are on the Endangered Species List, you know. I repeat, step out of the water! Do it now!”

  About that time there was a splash. Sergeant Green let out a blood curdling yell, emerging from the high reeds with a six foot croc impaled on the end of his scythe.

  “We’re going to eat good tonight!” exclaimed Green. “Get the hell out of the water before you get eaten by his buddies!”

  “You killed that croc!” accused the game warden as Pierce and I rushed out of the water. “You are under arrest!”

  “Shut up fool!” replied Sergeant Green, pushing past the game warden. Green tossed the croc at my feet. “Someone help me carry this monster to the mess hall!”

  “Crocs are on the Endangered Species List!” repeated the game warden. “It is illegal to hunt crocs!”

  “Let me see that list!” demanded Sergeant Green.

  “I don’t have the list on me at this moment,” advised the game warden. “But trust me, crocs are a protected species under federal law.”

  “Don’t have the list on you, eh?” asked Sergeant Green, wiping croc blood off his scythe. “Well, there you go. You can’t prove it. Talk to me when you find the list, because I’m not trusting you. Last time someone said ‘trust me,’ I ended up in the Legion!”

  “I’ll be talking to your commanding officer!” threatened the game warden.

  Sergeant Green shoved the game warden into the water, turnin
g his attention back to us. “What are you waiting for? I ordered you to carry this beast to the kitchen! We’re all having barbeque tonight!”

  * * * * *

  Colonel Czerinski, after receiving a report from a game warden at Caldera Lake that legionnaires were poaching crocs and polluting the lake with frunk, sent us on a mission. He felt we needed to be kept busy.

  Our helicopter touched down north of the border at an old abandoned homestead. The spiders allowed us safe passage through their air space to exhume bodies of long dead human pioneers for transfer to the National Cemetery. Per treaty, all human pestilence grave sites were to be moved south. Sergeant Green led us up a hill to a small family cemetery plot choked with weeds, overlooking the homestead.

  “I’ve been here before,” announced Sergeant Green, motioning with his scythe to the burned out buildings and the surrounding grasslands. “This is the Miranda Homestead. Back in the day, spider marines massacred several human families over a border dispute.”

  Pierce and I immediately glanced at Shaky Jake, averting our eyes when he noticed. “It’s not my fault!” declared Shaky Jake defensively. “I was in grade school when this happened! You can’t blame me for this!”

  “It was spiders that did it,” I commented. “That’s all.” “I’m the closest spider, so you blame me?” asked Shaky Jake. “After all we’ve been through? That’s not right!” “I’m just saying,” I replied. “No one is blaming you,” advised Pierce. “It’s just that there’s little kids buried here, and it’s freaking us out. No one wants to dig them up.”

  “Czerinski killed lots of spider babies, and ate them too!” argued Shaky Jake, still upset. “That’s why they call him the Butcher of New Colorado. No one complains about that. And now he sends us here?”

  “Colonel Czerinski gets a lot of bad press,” advised Sergeant Green. “Forget about it. That’s all ancient history.”

  “Just dig,” added Corporal Tonelli. “The quicker we get this over with, the better. Do you really want to spend the night out here?”

  “You were with him!” accused Shaky Jake, pointing at Green. “It’s all on the database! I saw the movie, Massacre at Habitat 40.”

  “Enough!” ordered Sergeant Green. “Dig them up and bag them!”

  Shaky Jake continued to grumble as he pushed his shovel deep into the soft dirt.

  Feeling guilty about your kind’s handiwork? asked a soft voice on the breeze.

  Shaky Jake stopped digging. “Who said that? Show yourself! Where are you?”

  “No one said anything,” answered Sergeant Green, nervously pacing, tightly gripping his scythe. “Get to work!”

  You heard the boss man, Ese, said the voice on the breeze. Dig up my brother. You will trade places with him.

  Shaky Jake threw down his shovel. “Can’t anyone else hear him? He wants me to take the place of his brother in his grave! He called me Ese! What does that mean?”

  “Stop eating Pierce’s magic mushrooms.” I replied. “They cause brain damage.”

  “Knock it off!” ordered Guido.

  “You’re creeping me out,” complained Pierce. “Maybe some weed will calm you down, man. I’ve still got plenty.” Pierce pulled out a baggie and offered it to Shaky Jake.

  You’ll be joining me soon enough, said the voice on the breeze, laughing.

  “Screw your weed!” replied Shaky Jake, slapping the baggie aside with his claw. “Someone else must hear that! This place is haunted!”

  “That was extreme,” commented Pierce, on the ground recovering his marijuana. “You need to chill.” Sergeant Green jabbed the air with his scythe and swung it back and forth like Don Quixote fighting imaginary foes. “You heard it too?” asked Shaky Jake, confronting Sergeant Green. “See? I’m not crazy.” “I didn’t hear anything,” insisted Sergeant Green, obviously lying as he continued frantically jabbing at demons. “Get those graves dug up!”

  “I am not digging anyone up!” advised Shaky Jake. “That’s final!” “If he’s not digging, I’m not digging either,” announced Pierce. “I’m sure as hell not digging graves up by myself,” I protested, leaning on my shovel. “No way in hell!” “Hell has nothing to do with it!” advised Sergeant Green, looking distracted, obviously hearing voices again. “What’s that?” he mumbled. “What did you say?”

  “I think you and Green have lost it,” advised Corporal Tonelli, shoving Shaky Jake. “Now you’ve got everyone spooked!”

  “Get back on the helicopter!” ordered Sergeant Green, abruptly. “Hurry! Do it now!”

  “You’re kidding, right?” asked Corporal Tonelli. “Our orders are to exhume these pioneers. Colonel Czerinski is going to be real upset if we don’t do it.”

  “Czerinski can get his mama to dig up those graves!” replied Sergeant Green. “Move it! We don’t have much time!” As if on cue, the wind picked up. Sand blew in our eyes as we rushed back to the helicopter and woke the pilot from his snooze. “Hey!” complained the pilot. “I thought we were spending the night. I already unpacked my gear!” “Spend the night here?” yelled Sergeant Green. “You must be out of your mind. Get us out of here! Do it now!” The pilot looked about, becoming more cognizant of the squad’s urgency as they piled on to the helicopter. The wind rocked the chopper, and dust blew inside. “Right, we don’t want to get caught on the ground during a storm.” He pushed the ignition button. Nothing happened. He pushed it again, but still no response. He began checking exposed wires under the dash.

  “What’s the matter?” asked Sergeant Green, grabbing the pilot by the shoulder. “Get this death trap up in the air!”

  “Maybe I kicked some wires loose,” advised the pilot as he checked connections. “This might take a while.”

  “We don’t have a while!” insisted Sergeant Green, smacking the dashboard with his scythe. Rotors turned as the helicopter engines fired up.

  “Yes!” shouted Shaky Jake.

  The pilot began his preflight checks. Sergeant slapped him alongside his helmet. “Get us up now!”

  “That’s ‘get us up now, sir,’” replied the pilot, tapping his gold second lieutenant’s bar on his collar.

  “Whatever!” said Green, smacking the pilot on the helmet again. “Get us into the air now, sir! Forget the preflight checks!”

  The helicopter lifted off just in front of a massive New Gobi Desert sandstorm. I looked down at the monster of a storm. A distorted image of a face made of dust and sand looked back at me and spoke. You’ll join me later, Ese! All of you will join me soon enough! Ha, ha, ha!

  “Oh shit! Fly us higher! It’s going to get us!” “We can only go so fast,” commented the pilot. “This bird is overweight with all of you, plus gear.” “Stupid gravity!” I yelled. “Start tossing out gear!” “You believe me now?” asked Shaky Jake, his head pressed to the window looking down at the monster. “I didn’t imagine that!” “Holy shit!” exclaimed Sergeant Green, kissing his scythe. “And to think Czerinski wanted me to give this baby up. No way I’m ever letting go of my scythe!”

  “There’s no such thing as ghosts,” advised Corporal Tonelli. “There’s just no way. Ghosts? Goblins? Elves? Eskimos? It’s all fantasy from your paranoid imagination. It’s just the wind playing tricks. You have never been caught in a desert dust storm before? This happens all the time in the New Gobi.”

  “You don’t believe in ghosts or the Mafia?” replied Shaky Jake. “You know nothing, so why would I ever listen to you?”

  “I know there’s no such thing as ghosts,” argued Corporal Tonelli, looking down at the storm. A dusty hand appeared to be reaching up to them. He panicked. “You heard the sergeant! Fly this rust bucket higher before that thing gets us!”

  “Anyone want to share my magic mushrooms?” asked Pierce, oblivious to all concerns. “I found lots of them growing in croc shit back at Caldera Lake. I love that place! Are we there yet?”

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  Chapter 13 />
  Our helicopter was diverted to Legion Headquarters in New Gobi City. Colonel Czerinski and Captain Perkins met us at the landing pad. Czerinski, having already read Sergeant Green’s text message account of the botched Miranda Homestead mission, was not happy. We stood at attention in front of our helicopter, facing Czerinski’s wrath. Through it all, Sergeant Green appeared calm and relaxed, standing at attention and holding his scythe, while the rest of us stood tense and rigid.

  “Explain yourself!” shouted Colonel Czerinski, facing the sergeant and waving his electronic communications pad. “Ghosts? Haunted sandstorms? Have you lost your mind?”

  Colonel Czerinski might suspect Green had indeed gone over the edge, but he stopped short of putting him on report for going crazy. I could tell they had a past, even without having been told by Corporal Tonelli that the two went way back, having joined the Legion at the same time. A Hero of the Legion deserved a break, but maybe his commanding officer could only go so far to protect him from himself. Czerinski stared in frustration at Green holding that stupid damned scythe.

  “Sir, we were attacked by a ghost and a haunted sandstorm,” repeated Sergeant Green calmly. “It talked to us. It spoke Spanish to Private Shaky Jake. That’s my story, and I’m sticking to it.”

  “Is that true?” asked Colonel Czerinski, turning on Shaky Jake. “You speak Spanish?”

  “It called me Ese,” answered Shaky Jake. “Everything Sergeant Green says is true. It wanted me to switch places with its brother in the grave.”