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“You saw a ghost?” “No sir, but I heard it.” “Guido!” said Colonel Czerinski, walking down the line. “You don’t believe all this nonsense, do you?” “I don’t know, sir,” replied Corporal Tonelli. “There is definitely something spooky out there. That dust storm tried to reach up and grab us from the sky.”

  “Oh well that settles it!” exclaimed Colonel Czerinski, confronting me. “Crisp! Why does trouble follow wherever I send you?” “Sir, I didn’t do anything wrong,” I protested. “Did you see ghosts?” “No, sir, but I heard the dust storm talk to us. It threatened us, promising we would join it later.” “I suppose the storm spoke Spanish to you too?” “I guess.” Private Pierce began humming an ancient Old Earth Halloween tune, attracting Czerinski’s wrath. “What did you say?” asked Czerinski. “You have something on your mind? Spit it out!”

  Pierce began singing out loud as he swayed from side to side. “The Monster Mash, it was a graveyard smash, he did the Monster Mash, it caught on like a flash, he did the Monster Mash.”

  “What is this?” screamed Colonel Czerinski.

  “The zombies were...”

  “Stop!” yelled Colonel Czerinski, punching Pierce in the chest. Pierce fell back a step, then came back to attention. “Legionnaire! What are you singing?”

  “A little ditty by the Crypt-Kickers,” answered Private Pierce. “Like it? It was a top hit several hundred years ago.” “What’s wrong with this man?” shouted Colonel Czerinski. “Sunstroke?” suggested Corporal Tonelli. “Green! Answer me! I’m talking to you!” “He possibly ate too many magic mushrooms,” advised Sergeant Green. “They’re all over the croc shit at Caldera Lake. Or, the problem might be organic. Pierce has always been a bit unstable. Someone should address the recent drop off in recruitment standards.”

  “Unstable?” fumed Czerinski, eying Green’s long-handled scythe. “Talk about the pot calling the kettle black!”

  “I heard that, sir,” replied Sergeant Green. “I always thought you were above slurs of that sort.”

  “Is everyone in this outfit going crazy?” Colonel Czerinski shook his head and then checked the Weather Channel on the database. He waved his communications pad angrily. “See? Look at this! Clear skies at the Miranda Homestead! Satellite images don’t lie. Explain that!”

  “That’s now, but what about then?” asked Sergeant Green.

  Colonel Czerinski adjusted the archive features on his weather map. The dust storm stared back at him, grinning. Czerinski abruptly snapped his communications pad shut. “Enough of this madness!” he announced, turning to Captain Perkins. “We’re taking your whole company to the Miranda Homestead to exhume those families. Load the armored cars and mount up!”

  Everyone ran to the motor pool to load gear and ammo, except Private Pierce, who continued standing at attention, humming.

  “What about him?” asked Captain Perkins. “I think he’s stoned.”

  “Tie him to the hood of my armored car,” ordered Colonel Czerinski. “He’ll sober up or die! Search for contraband and trash his stash. I want my legionnaires alert. I won’t tolerate being stoned while on duty!”

  “Yes, sir.”

  * * * * *

  Per treaty, the spiders allowed our armored column to cross north to exhume bodies at the Miranda Homestead. Colonel Czerinski deployed the armored cars in a defensive perimeter around the homestead ruins and hill. “Drive up to the top of the hill, and stop,” ordered Colonel Czerinski.

  The driver, a big spider legionnaire named Corporal John Iwo Jima Wayne, stepped on the gas. “It’s a good thing you told me to stop at the top of the hill,” commented Corporal Wayne. “Otherwise I might have kept on going. We probably would have fallen off the other side and got killed. Whew, that was a close one, sir.”

  “Smart-ass spider,” grumbled Colonel Czerinski.

  “My translator device must not be working properly, sir,” advised Corporal Wayne. “I know you did not really say my butt was intelligent. That would be out of line, sir.”

  “Shut up!” ordered Colonel Czerinski.

  We stayed alert digging up the graves. No ghosts so far. My shovel struck bottom first. It was a shallow grave belonging to one of the Miranda boys. Something was not right. Private Pierce picked up a piece of exoskeleton from atop the bones.

  “They buried a spider marine here too,” commented Pierce, turning away from the grisly scene. “I guess it was easier that way.”

  Corporal Wayne carefully removed the spider’s identification crystal, handing it to Captain Perkins. “Usually these aren’t left with the bodies,” explained Wayne. “It needs to be returned to the Arthropodan marines for their archives.”

  “Fine!” agreed Colonel Czerinski, looking on. “See! That wasn’t so difficult. Bag these bodies, and let’s get the hell out of here!”

  What’s the hurry? whispered a voice on the breeze. It’s not every day the Butcher of New Colorado comes a calling. Ha! This just gets better and better. Stay and visit with me a while. I don’t get many visitors up here on this hill.

  “Now!” ordered Colonel Czerinski, looking about for the voice, not seeing anyone. “Quit standing around! Tag and bag them!”

  Congratulations on your promotion, Colonel. I’m glad to see someone else besides me recognizes and appreciates your deadly talents. How many spiders have you killed? You must be in the triple digits by now.

  “I don’t know!” answered Colonel Czerinski. Legionnaires stopped digging, and stared, obviously wondering if Czerinski was going crazy – crazier. I was wondering that myself.

  Where were you when my family needed help? Where was your precious Legion then? Off making peace treaties? You stole all the good land for yourself, leaving us to settle on disputed territory!

  “It’s not my fault!” exclaimed Colonel Czerinski, covering his ears to block out the voice in his head. “Forget the bodies!” he yelled. “Leave them here! Just bag that spider shell and go!”

  Ha, ha, ha, you think this is over, just because you are leaving? It’s just begun, Ese!

  * * * * *

  While Colonel Czerinski seemed agitated and freaked out, Captain Perkins remained calm. Perkins hung back at the grave sites after we filled in the holes and prepared to leave. I watched Perkins drop something small at the base of one of the Miranda boys’ tombstones. What is he up to? I sauntered over to take a look, trying not to be noticed. It looked like a small bug. Maybe a beetle? Or a toy?

  “Get back to the armored car!” ordered Captain Perkins, shooing me away. “You heard the Colonel. We’re moving out!”

  “What did you just do?” I asked, nodding toward the fake bug. “Are those toys?”

  Captain Perkins grabbed me by the collar, pulling me back to the armored car. Corporal Wayne assisted, poking me with his sharp claw.

  “Ouch! Careful with that thing!”

  “What did you see?” asked Captain Perkins as the engines started. “Why were you watching me?”

  “It’s just a habit from playing poker with Czerinski,” I explained nervously. Wayne still threatened me with that claw. “Czerinski cheats, and he always has help, so I was unconsciously looking about for his conspirators as he was going through his theatrics. And sure enough, I see you planting bugs on the graves. What’s this all about?”

  “When you’ve got ghosts, who are you going to call?” hissed Private Wayne, sticking his claw under my chin menacingly. “Ghostbusters? Get real. You call the Legion! We work weekends too!”

  “We literally bugged the entire Miranda Homestead,” advised Captain Perkins. “Audio-visual multi-band paranormal receptors will tell us once and for all what goes on here. We’re going to catch ourselves a ghost. With any luck, we might even catch the Grim Reaper himself!”

  “Is Czerinski in on this?” I asked.

  “Of course Czerinski is in on it,” answered Captain Perkins. “So is General Lopez, the CIA, the FBI, and the President. We’ve been documenting these
strange occurrences for a long time. Now it’s our chance for payback. The ghosts are going to fall.”

  I shook my head. “What are you going to do? Throw a net over the ghosts? I don’t think it’s going to be that easy.”

  * * * * *

  On a hill five miles from the Miranda Homestead, one of the armored cars developed mechanical problems. Steam sprayed out its engine from overheating. Colonel Czerinski ordered a perimeter secured, establishing camp for the night. Headquarters advised the spiders of our temporary delay. Pierce and I were posted to guard duty out by the road. We were soon confronted by a mechanized column of Arthropodan marines.

  “You human pestilence are trespassing!” advised a spider officer, shouting down at us from the turret of his armored car. “You will leave at once!”

  “I’ll tell my commander, but we have permission from your superiors to be here to exhume bodies from the Miranda Homestead,” I explained, trying to be reasonable.

  The spider officer still seemed agitated. “You should be done by now, and yet you linger? Why?” “One of our vehicles broke down.” “You lie! You are spying on the Empire!” “Screw you, paranoid fascist pig!” shouted Pierce. “And screw the Emperor too. We’ll slow walk out of here if we want to! We are the Legion!”

  Pierce and I dived for cover as the spider officer brought his machine gun to bear and fired. Pierce crouched behind the first boulder, as I ran to the next. Immediately Legion armored cars on the hill returned fire. The spider officer fell back down his turret as bullets and tracers pinged off the armor. I threw a grenade as the armored car retreated, but it exploded harmlessly in the road. The spider armor dispersed, flanking us, hiding behind boulders.

  “You had to insult the Emperor?” I asked. “What were you thinking? Didn’t you learn from last time?”

  “I forgot how touchy they are!” shouted Pierce. “Cover me while I run back to you!”

  I fired at the nearest armored car, but Pierce was still pinned by returning fire. As he peeked over the boulder, rock fragments stung his face, forcing him to crouch down. As Pierce lay there rubbing his eyes, more Legionnaires ran up to help. Medic Knight was closest, just off to my right.

  Seeing Knight, Pierce called out, “Medic! I’m hit! Medic!”

  Immediately Knight darted to the next rock, getting closer, but drawing machine gun fire. Pierce ran the other direction to safety. We retreated toward the armored cars. Knight grabbed Pierce, hastily examining him for injures. “Where are you hit?”

  “I think I’m okay,” advised Pierce, rubbing his eyes again. “It was just rocks kicked up in my face.”

  “Take off your helmet,” ordered Knight, examining Pierce’s face. “You might have something in your eye.”

  As Pierce removed his helmet, Knight struck Pierce in the face, nearly shattering an eye socket. “You bastard!” yelled Knight, raising the helmet for another blow.

  I grabbed the helmet. “Fix him up!” I shouted. “You had no call to do that!”

  Knight immediately applied gauze and bandages to Pierce’s eye, then dragged him by the collar unconscious to an armored car.

  A five-hundred-pound precision guided bomb dropped from the Space Weapons Platform T. Roosevelt destroyed the closest spider armored car. The other spider vehicles backed off. I crouched beside Captain Perkins as he talked on the radio to the space cannon specialist on the T. Roosevelt.

  “Load up, we’re getting out of here!” ordered Captain Perkins. “Sir, what about the ghosts?” I asked. “Aren’t we going to catch one?” “You are on a no-need-to-know basis about that. Keep a tight lid on talk of ghosts!” “But I thought...” “Privates aren’t paid to think!” interrupted Captain Perkins. “Unless you want to volunteer. Good idea! Crisp, we’re going back with commandos when things settle down and the time is right. I’ll make sure you go with us, being that you are familiar with the situation and the Miranda Homestead.”

  “Volunteer?”

  “You’re a good man, and a Hero of the Legion,” commented Captain Pierce. “I saw you fight off that spider armored car and drag Pierce to safety. Is he okay?”

  “Some rocks flew up and hit him in the face,” I replied. “That wound looked nasty. When Pierce recovers, tell him next time to keep his helmet on, and chin strap buckled!” “Yes, sir.” As I entered the armored car, Corporal Wayne put his claw on my shoulder and hissed into my ear, “I saw what happened. You tell your human pestilence friend when he wakes up that I will slit his throat if he does not shape up.”

  * * * * *

  The Arthropodan marines regrouped to the old Miranda Homestead. Their commanding officer was dead, killed by the human pestilence space weapons platform. The team leader in charge called for an air strike, but was chastised for provoking the incident in the first place. He was ordered to wait for a new commanding officer.

  The team leader seethed with anger. Incredulously, two human pestilence appeared atop the small hill at the Miranda Homestead. Anger now focused on a new target, the spider team leader rushed to the nearest armored car and ordered it up the hill to confront the human pestilence, manning the machine gun turret himself. “Trespassers!” accused the team leader, aiming the machine gun at the humans. “This is Imperial territory. You are under arrest!”

  “I’ve heard all this before,” replied the older human male. “This is my homestead. It is you who trespasses But, I will let you leave in peace, Ese. Or, you can die!”

  “It is you who will die!” responded the spider team leader.

  “Good, I hoped you would say that,” replied the younger human pestilence, reaching into the high grass for an assault rifle.

  The spider marine team leader and his comrades fired in unison at the targets. The turret-mounted machine gun riddled the two humans, but to no effect. The bullets seemed to just pass through them. The young boy just smiled, aimed his rifle, and shot the spider team leader. A third human, another boy, emerged from the high grass behind the armored car. He jumped up on the armored car, pulling the dead team leader from the turret and tossing him aside. Changing into a skeletal demon, the boy reached into the car, dragged out each crew member, and strangled them all.

  The three skeletal aberrations, eyes glowing red, stared down at the spider marines remaining at the base of the hill, laughing. The spider marines opened fire with machine guns and cannons. The Miranda ghosts, impervious to the assault, gave the spider marines one-fingered salutes and then faded away.

  back to Table of Contents

  Chapter 14

  “My God, what the Hell was that?” asked Captain Perkins, reviewing transmissions from the Miranda Homestead. “Ghosts?” “Minions of the Grim Reaper!” answered Sergeant Green, shaking his scythe at the monitor screen. “We can’t send commandos against that!” commented Captain Perkins, replaying the video. “It would be suicide.” “Nuke them,” ordered Colonel Czerinski. “That will fix them!” “You can’t nuke a ghost!” exclaimed Sergeant Green. “It will just piss them off. Besides, it’s on spider territory. There is the only solution.” Green shook his scythe defiantly at the computer screen. “Send me and commandos armed with scythes. It’s the only way to fight demons from Hell!”

  “Suddenly you’re an expert?” asked Captain Perkins. Green’s sanity had been suspect, but now he wasn’t sure. “Scythes?”

  “We need volunteers,” commented Colonel Czerinski. “I can’t order commandos to attack ghosts behind enemy lines during peace time, armed with only scythes.”

  “I volunteer,” replied Sergeant Green.

  “Private Crisp volunteered to go on the next commando mission,” advised Captain Perkins. “Crisp is shaping up to be a good legionnaire. He accounted for himself well today, and dragged a wounded legionnaire to safety.”

  “Crisp?” asked Sergeant Green. “Oh, hell, no! That’s the fool that shot me in the foot. I’m still limping. He’s worse than Knight!”

  “No one is perfect,” announ
ced Colonel Czerinski, coming to a decision. “Go to Walmart and get scythes for everyone. Our commandos will parachute in at midnight. Private Crisp will go too.”

  “Perhaps we should coordinate with the spiders,” suggested Captain Perkins. “I’d feel more comfortable if we shared intelligence.”

  “Nonsense!” replied Colonel Czerinski. “These ghosts are human, so we’ll deal with it. Besides, it’s the CIA’s call, and they want the spiders kept in the dark.”

  “I wonder,” said Captain Perkins, now having second thoughts about the mission. “Technically, aren’t ghosts from the Miranda massacre still USGF citizens? I mean, they used to be citizens. When does citizenship end?”

  “Christ!” exclaimed Colonel Czerinski, in frustration. “Are you saying we need lawyers to get a legal opinion about dealing with ghosts? Ghosts are not citizens. They’re enemy combatants. We will kill ghosts with extreme prejudice!”

  “Records show the Mirandas were not only citizens, but they were registered Republicans,” advised Captain Perkins, checking the database. “They are all from Texas. We are treading on dangerous new ground, sir.”

  “Are you turning into a troublemaker?” asked Colonel Czerinski. “I will not tolerate troublemakers in my command!”

  “We need to contact General Lopez about these issues before taking any action,” insisted Captain Perkins. “If ghosts are still USGF citizens, they may even have voting rights.”

  “No, the law is very clear on that,” replied Colonel Czerinski. “The dead may not vote, except in Illinois.”

  “Yes, there is precedent in Chicago,” agreed Captain Perkins, continuing his database research.

  “But the Mirandas are still alive, even if they were murdered,” reasoned Colonel Czerinski, triumphantly pointing to his database notepad. “Those Chicago dead voters were really dead, allowing them to vote several times for the proper candidates. But our ghostly dead voters could still be considered alive. Who knows who they might vote for?”