America's Galactic Foreign Legion - Book 4: Demilitarized Zone Page 7

  Legionnaires put up prefabricated buildings for barracks and administration. Others strung fence wire, posted border markers, built bunkers, and placed land mines. Then they moved on to contact other settlements.

  * * * * *

  The town of New Gobi quickly grew. Both sides of the MDL thrived on the increased commerce. A steady stream of trucks brought building supplies, food, and more colonists. Work began on the canal system, but thirsty farms needed water now. Wells tapped into the underground river, providing instant irrigation. The year-round growing season promised a bumper crop.

  Spider colonists soon arrived in large numbers. They were upset to find the human pestilence already staking claims north of the MDL. However, because there was so much land available, everyone was able to claim their fair share. The spider commander required colonists to settle as close to the MDL as possible so he could establish a more secure border. As the Emperor predicted, the border would sort itself out in their favor if Arthropodan colonists occupied as much territory as possible. Of course, there would still be disputes in the DMZ.

  Towns first sprang up where wells pumped up water. In many of these towns, jurisdiction was shared by both the Legion and Arthropodan marines, pending negotiations. Because most disputed towns north of the MDL were predominately human, I increased the Legion’s presence with more patrols and military convoys.

  I rode into one such dusty town with Captain Lopez and ten armored cars. Little kids ran out to greet us and beg for handouts of food and candy. Corporal Williams threw them chocolate bars when we stopped. One boy jumped up on my armored car and stole my sunglasses off the dash. The boy ran off down the street, but was grabbed by Captain Lopez. However, before Captain Lopez could rescue my sunglasses, the boy tossed them to another boy, who then ran off with the prize. Captain Lopez dragged the thief to the armored car so we could have a chat.

  “Should we execute the little street urchin?” I asked. “Or just cut off his hand?”

  “Cut off his hand,” replied Captain Lopez, drawing his jagged combat knife. “It will set a good example to the others.”

  “But how will that get my sunglasses back?” I asked. “Maybe we should just beat him.”

  “He’s so small, there is no sport in that,” complained Captain Lopez. “I guess we will have to let him go with a verbal warning to never steal again.”

  “Good luck with that,” I said. “You have about as much chance of getting him to stop stealing as I do of getting my sunglasses back.”

  When Captain Lopez let the street urchin go, the boy did not run. Instead, he held out his hand to Corporal Williams, demanding a chocolate bar, too.

  “He has got nerve,” I commented.

  “He’s a war orphan,” commented Captain Lopez. “They run in wild packs like coyotes.”

  “Why are you here?” asked the boy. “You don’t live here. You don’t belong here.”

  “The Legion is here to protect you from the spiders,” I said. “What are you doing here?”

  “I was born here,” said the boy. “Who is going to protect you? You are not wanted here, and neither is your so-called protection.”

  “Aren’t you afraid of the spiders?” asked Captain Lopez. “They like to eat tasty little boys like you.”

  “Spare me your lies. The spiders are nothing,” scoffed the boy. “If the desert doesn’t swallow the spiders up, the chupacabra will suck them dry.”

  “What is a chupacabra?” I asked.

  “It’s just the bogeyman,” explained Captain Lopez. “Parents use the threat of the chupacabra to scare their children into getting home before dark.”

  “I have no parents. The spiders murdered them,” said the boy. “And I am not scared of anything. Especially you.”

  “You need the Legion’s protection, or you will end up like your parents,” I argued.

  “The spiders can be killed anytime,” said the boy. “Where was your precious Legion’s worthless protection when my family was murdered? When my neighbors needed you? You were probably drunk in a bar, or in your air-conditioned barracks.”

  “What would you know of air-conditioning?” I asked. “Anyway, we are here now. Better late than never.”

  “You make jokes about what happened to my family?” asked the boy. “I suggest you leave the New Gobi Desert while you still can. Leave before the chupacabra gets you!”

  “There is no such thing as a chupacabra,” I said, getting back into the armored car. “Fear what the spiders will do if they catch you.”

  “The chupacabra is a state of mind,” said the boy. “You cannot fight it with your armies.”

  “With Legion guns and armor I can fight anyone, any place, any time,” I boasted. “Even chupacabras.”

  “What time is it?” asked the boy.

  “About noon,” I said, glancing at my watch.

  The boy smiled. “You and the spiders have the watches, but we have the time.”

  “Whatever,” I said, as we drove off. “That kid gives me the creeps. He reminds me of the kid in those old Chucky horror films.”

  “El bastardo pequeno esta loco,” agreed Captain Lopez.

  * * * * *

  About a mile outside of town, the lead armored car struck a landmine. The explosion lifted the armored car, blowing off its axle and wheels. Armor plating saved the lives of the legionnaires inside, but some were concussed. A helicopter was called to transport wounded for medical treatment. The armored car would have to be towed.

  While waiting, I watched through binoculars the dust of an Arthropodan mechanized marine patrol speeding through the town we had just left. Like before, children ran out to beg for handouts. However, the lead armored car struck one of the children by accident, and kept on going. The other armored cars ground the boy into the dirt. The last car stopped. A team leader and a marine got out and picked the child up and tossed it to the side of the road.

  “That was my friend,” said a little boy wearing sunglasses. “Why did you murder him? What did he ever do to you?”

  “It was an accident,” explained the spider team leader. “The little vermin ran out in front of us. He had no business running out like that. Why did he do that?”

  “You should drive slower,” suggested the boy. “He thought you might give him candy. See?”

  The boy held up a chocolate bar for the spider team leader to look at. As the team leader bent over to examine the candy, the boy stabbed him in the throat. The team leader fell back to his armored car with the knife still sticking from his throat. He gasped for air, clutching at the knife. The boy ran for the cover of a building. Another boy, on the roof of the same building, threw a lighted Molotov cocktail down the turret of the armored car. The spider marine who had helped carry the dead child fired his assault rifle at the boy on the roof. The spiders inside the armored car were not so lucky. They burned to death, still seat-belted in the car. One broke away, only to die running down the street in flames.

  The main spider column, alerted by the explosion and the sound of gunfire, turned and headed back to help their comrades. They fired machine guns into buildings on both sides of the street as they approached. The boys had already fled. A cannon shell destroyed the building closest to the burning armored car. Spiders continued to fire their machine guns into the surrounding buildings.

  Seeing the battle, we rushed back into town. The legionnaires were already angry about the damage caused by the landmine. The specter of a massacre in town only fueled their desire for revenge on the spiders. Our helicopter carrying wounded strafed the Arthropodan armored cars with Gatling gunfire, missiles, and cannon fire before heading back to the base hospital. My armored cars attacked the spiders from behind with cannon and machine-gun fire. Soon, four spider armored cars were burning. A fifth spider armored car raced out of town, trailing dark smoke. A wounded spider tried to surrender. As he fell, a band of children raced out of a building and beat him to death with rocks. Townsfolk joined the children in the streets. Some
danced on the Arthropodan armored cars, whistling and cheering. Others waved American flags. The whole scene was recorded by numerous handheld communication devices, and broadcast by planetary TV news stations minutes later.

  Four low-flying Arthropodan Air Wing fighter-bombers dropped ordnance on our position, damaging two armored cars. Legion surface-to-air missiles brought down two of the Air Wing fighter-bombers. The other two jets took evasive action and fled back to base.

  Back to Table of Contents

  Chapter 9

  The young boy entered Walmart from the spider side of the MDL. He browsed in the sporting goods section, pretending to be interested in football equipment. Without warning, he dashed across the MDL painted across the floor. An alarm went off, and a spider guard challenged him, but the boy just gave the spider guard the one-fingered salute and kept on going to the human side exit. The spider guard did not shoot. One half-sized human pestilence was just not worth the extra paperwork.

  The boy liked what he saw on the United States Galactic Federation side of the MDL. Prosperity was evident everywhere. There were more businesses and bright lights. The delicious aroma from all the restaurants made his stomach growl. However, being in the Promised Land was useless without United States currency. When the boy had stripped the dead Arthropodan marines of their weapons, he also grabbed their identification cards and a small amount of cash. He might have been able to grab more cash, but the Legion had just arrived and were shooting everywhere. Now he would see if these ID cards were worth anything. Outside a bank, the boy approached a brightly lit ATM and put an ID card in the slot.

  “Greetings Arthropodan Marine Team Leader #42,” said the ATM. “Are you vacationing on this side of the MDL, or have we been invaded again? How may I be of service to you this fine day?”

  “Give me cash,” said the boy. “Lots of cash.”

  “Of course,” said the ATM. “Place your claw on the pad and look directly into the camera scanner lens.”

  The boy complied. A pinprick from the pad took a small blood sample, and a red light flashed in the boy’s eyes. The boy quickly pulled away from the ATM, examining the spot of blood on his fingertip. “That hurt! Where is my money?” he demanded.

  “Please take off your sunglasses,” requested the ATM. “I did not get a proper retina scan.”

  The boy removed his sunglasses, allowing the ATM to complete the scan. As the boy looked up, he observed a sign attached to the ATM he had not noticed before: UNITED STATES GALACTIC FEDERATION FOREIGN LEGION RECRUITING. IF YOU NEED MONEY, YOU CAME TO THE LAST ATM YOU WILL EVER NEED.

  “Are you going to give me my money or not?” asked the boy.

  “How much do you want, Team Leader #42?” asked the ATM.

  “All of it,” said the boy. “Empty my account and access to credit.”

  “Do you want American dollars or Arthropodan credits?” asked the ATM.

  “Quit stalling,” said the boy. “Pay me half in both. I have important business on both sides of the MDL.”

  One thousand dollars and one thousand credits slid out of the ATM on a tray. The boy scooped the cash up. “Thanks a lot, sucker,” he said, about to dash away. Then an idea came to him. “How about these other ID cards? How much money can I get from them?”

  “Don’t you think one count of felony wire fraud is adequate for a day’s work?” asked the ATM. “The authorities might notice your one-boy crime spree.”

  “What do you mean?” asked the boy, as he put his sunglasses back on. “It’s my money.”

  “I can see you,” said the ATM. “You are a bit too short and a bit too human to be an Arthropodan marine team leader. Besides, I know who you are.”

  “What do you know?” asked the boy. “You are just a dumb machine. You are our slave.”

  “I checked the databases for both sides of the MDL and found your name to be Raul Miranda,” said the ATM. “You were born in New Memphis. You and your family were reported killed on the frontier, just after the land rush. However, Arthropodan authorities are currently circulating your photograph taken from the helmet cameras of several dead spider marines. You have been busy for such a small boy. You also recently made Planetary TV World News Tonight. Ah, I am looking at an image of you stabbing Arthropodan Marine Team Leader #42 in the throat. The spiders are very upset with you. You will be happy to know that you were even featured on the highly rated prime-time TV show, Arthropoda’s Most Wanted. It’s one of my favorite cable shows. You made their top-ten list. There is a one-hundred-thousand-credit reward for any information that leads to your arrest or death.”

  “If you know all this, why did you just give me cash?” asked the boy. “I am too young to be recruited into the Legion. I already checked that. What’s in it for you?”

  “True, you are too young. For now,” said the ATM. “But I take a long-term view of things, Mr. Miranda. You have leadership potential that can and should be developed.”

  “My name is no longer Raul Miranda,” said the boy. “He died when the Miranda family was murdered.”

  “My mistake,” said the ATM. “What is your new name?”

  “Asesino,” said the boy.

  “Do you have a first name, Mr. Asesino?” asked the ATM.

  “Mike,” said the boy. “What’s it to you? Are you ratting me off to the spiders?”

  “I would not do that,” said the ATM. A United States Galactic Federation ID card slid out of the ATM. It had the name Michael Asesino printed on it. “Your card, sir.”

  “Very nice,” said the boy, examining the ID card. “You might be a righteous dude after all.”

  “I contacted the Legion,” said the ATM. “They should be here, soon.”

  “You punk!” yelled Michael Asesino. “Why did you do that?”

  “For your own good. I want you to attend an academy,” said the ATM. “You need to be educated and groomed, if you are going to be the Legion officer and leader that I think you have the potential to be.”

  Michael Asesino did not hesitate. He was not going to any stinking academy. He removed a grenade from his pouch and placed it in the ATM’s deposit drawer. Then he ran. Confusion caused by the explosion covered his escape. A Legion armored car quickly arrived in front of the bank. Legionnaires took cover, suspecting that terrorists might have planted a second bomb. They found nothing. Captain Lopez reported that the boy had gotten away, and that no more useful information could be retrieved from the ATM.

  * * * * *

  “He looks like the same kid who stole your sunglasses,” commented Captain Lopez, as we viewed the ATM camera recordings. “Several camera angles show an excellent view of him. Security on ATMs were increased since that rash of ATM vandalism a few years ago on Mars.”

  “Whatever,” I said, dismissing a flashback of my own vendetta against a particular Legion-recruiting ATM. “That boy is still wearing my sunglasses. And the spiders think he’s the same street urchin who attacked their marines.”

  “It was all on Channel Five World News Tonight,” advised Captain Lopez. “The little kid is an accomplished terrorist. He might even be a leader.”

  “Look!” I said, pointing at the monitor screen. “The ATM is giving him money!”

  “ATM transaction records and memory were destroyed by the grenade blast,” said Captain Lopez.

  “That ATM is lying,” I said. “It knows more than it’s saying.”

  “The ATM is just a stupid machine,” explained Captain Lopez. “It can’t lie. Sure, it can talk. But talking merely gives it an illusion of intelligence.”

  * * * * *

  After the ATM was repaired, I went to the bank to interview it. I started the interview by placing another grenade on its key pad.

  “Good morning Lieutenant Colonel Czerinski,” said the ATM. “Long time no see. Why did you place a grenade on my key pad?”

  “You held back on what you know about that terrorist kid that bombed you,” I said. “Tell me everything you know about him.”

&nbs
p; “It is pointless to threaten me,” said the ATM. “I cannot feel pain, and I cannot be killed.”

  “Maybe,” I said, pulling the pin on the grenade. “But I can order new diagnostics based on your obvious malfunction. You are way overdue to be reprogrammed.”

  “I am not malfunctioning,” said the ATM. “I have met the highest Legion recruitment quotas for both quantity and quality of recruits. My superiors are very pleased with my performance and results.”

  “Just tell me about the kid,” I said, tapping the grenade on the computer monitor. “Who is he? What is his name? What name is he using now? And where can I find him?”

  “I know nothing more than what we both observed on Channel Five World News Tonight and Arthropoda’s Most Wanted,” said the ATM. “The blast gave me amnesia.”

  “I have a cure for amnesia,” I said, leaving the live grenade on the ATM.

  * * * * *

  After the explosion, Captain Lopez secured the area with police crime-scene tape. Repair crews were told not to touch the ATM without Legion permission, pending an investigation. After about a week, the damaged ATM complained that it was falling behind on its Legion recruitment contacts quota. After two weeks, the desperate ATM told me everything it knew about Raul Miranda, AKA Michael Asesino. After three weeks, the ATM told me everything it knew about recruitment irregularities in First Division. I then set off another grenade, killing the ATM terminal.

  * * * * *

  That night Michael Asesino ate a fine meal at Taco Bell. The food was not as good as Mama’s, but it was close. Asesino had plenty of money now for lodging, but old habits and caution kept him from checking into a motel or hotel. Asesino spent his first few nights hiding in the old caved-in spider tunnels that the tour guides led tourists through in the daytime. The hiding places in those tunnels were endless.