America's Galactic Foreign Legion - Book 2: Reenlistment (19 page)

“Here!” said Corporal Williams, waving some
money. “Get me some, too.”

“No problem.” Tonelli snatched the money.

“You better hope Sergeant Green doesn’t come
back and see you and the armored car gone,” said Corporal Williams.
“I don’t think he likes you anyway.”

“Sergeant Green does not like anyone,” said
Tonelli.

“I hear you,” said Corporal Williams. “I know
he hates me.”

Private Washington drove through East
Finisterra at a high rate of speed. As he approached the party
house, he accelerated, and turned on the overhead spot lights and
siren. He crashed through the front wall of the home at sixty miles
per hour. Spider bodies flew everywhere. Some were armed. Private
Washington cut them down with the machine gun. Guido threw
grenades. The Emperor of the North emerged from a side bedroom. A
machine gun burst turned his chest into a bloody mist. Almost as
soon as it started, it was all over. The spotlights lit up the
wrecked home, but jagged shadows obscured some areas because of the
debris.

“Don’t shoot!” shouted Pam from one of the
bedrooms. She came out with her hands up. Fran followed her.
“George? Is that you?”

“Yes,” said Private Washington. “I came here
to take you away with me, my love.”

“How romantic,” gushed Pam. “It’s just like
in the movies.”

“I came for you, too, Fran,” added Private
Washington.

“How ambitious of you,” said Fran. “If this
is just like in the movies, it must be a porno movie.”

“I want to marry you both,” said Private
Washington, getting down on his knees. “The sooner the better.”

“Have you thought this out?” asked Fran,
frowning. “Where are the rings? I’m not marrying anyone who won’t
give me a ring.”

“Help!” said someone in the corner under
debris. “I’m tied up and can’t get up. Please help me.”

Corporal Tonelli picked up bricks and dry
wall pieces until he reached Ralph Singh. He cut the ropes and
blindfold from Singh and helped him up.

“It is about time the Legion saved me,” said
Singh. “Where are the others? I want to talk to your commanding
officer.”

“It’s just us,” said Tonelli. “Are you that
Singh dude? You can call me Guido.”

“Just you, Guido?” asked Singh, looking about
at all the debris and dead bodies. “This is amazing. I am forever
in your debt for saving me. Thank you very much for rescuing
me.”

“Whatever,” said Tonelli, fending off Singh’s
attempt to hug.

“I mean it,” said Singh. “I will make you two
wealthy men. I promise it.” Sing hesitated when he got a better
look at Private Washington. “You are a legionnaire too? That’s
fine. Some of my best friends are spiders. I will make the two of
you very wealthy. I will take care of you both for life.”

“How wealthy do you mean by
very
wealthy
?” asked Pam, taking Private Washington by the arm.

“They will both be millionaires,” said Singh.
“I take care of my friends.”

Fran sidled up to Tonelli. “Hear that, babe?”
she asked. “You are going to be a millionaire, you cute little fur
ball.”

“Get away from me,” said Tonelli, warding off
the female spider by holding out the crucifix hanging from a chain
around neck. “I said once before I’m Catholic. I don’t do the nasty
spider thing.”

Fran pouted and went over to Private
Washington and took his other arm. “I can’t wait to get married,”
she announced. “Let’s do it as soon as possible.”

<>
<chapter>>
<>
<>

CHAPTER 15

When the Legion armored car smashed through
the safe house wall, General Electric ducked out a window and never
looked back. In his backpack G.E. had $700,000. Most of the
insurgents and his Special Forces soldiers had deserted after they
got their split of the money. A few die-hard types stayed at the
safe house, hoping to get more ransom out of Singh. They were dead
now, along with that fool Emperor of the North.

G.E. jogged to the river, where he bought
passage to New Memphis. After checking into a hotel, he changed his
appearance by dying himself black. G.E. looked in the mirror at his
new shiny black exoskeleton. He looked good. The next day G.E. took
a bus to the New Colorado Spaceport with the intent of buying a
ticket to Arthopoda. G.E. had more than enough money for the
ticket. Unfortunately, an identification card was required before
buying a ticket off-planet. No one left New Colorado or anywhere
else in the Human Empire without proper ID or a driver’s
license.

G.E. sat dejected on a bench with his head
cupped in his hands. If Arthropoda still had an embassy, he would
simply seek asylum. But Arthropoda and Earth had a falling out of
sorts lately, and the embassy was closed indefinitely.

“Do you need help?”

G.E. looked around. He saw no one. “Who said
that?”

“I did,” said an ATM next to the ticket
vendor. “Friend, do you need more money?”

“I have plenty of money,” said G.E. “What I
need is proper identification. I am a political refugee wanting to
leave New Colorado.”

“It’s more likely you are a petty criminal
avoiding the police,” said the ATM. “If you stay at the spaceport,
it is only a matter of time before face recognition camera
computers identify you. That phony black dye job will not fool the
computers.”

“Can you help me get a new ID card?” asked
G.E. “I will pay you. I have plenty of money.”

“I am an ATM. I have no need for your money.
I dispense money. Perhaps I can give you money. Do you have
skills?” asked the ATM.

“I am a soldier,” said G.E. “I have Special
Forces commando training.”

“Come closer,” said the ATM. “I want to get a
better look at you. Please put your claw on my scanner pad. Look
into the camera and let me scan your retina.”

As G.E. stood in front of the ATM, he looked
at the machine closer. Printing above the computer screen read,
UNITED STATES GALACTIC FEDERATION FOREIGN LEGION. He stepped back.
“Forget it,” said G.E., turning to walk away.

“Too late, Team Leader #4 of the Arthropodan
Marine Special Forces, missing in action over a year ago,” said the
ATM. “I now know who you are.”

“You will call the police to pick me up?”
asked G.E.

“If it suits me,” said the ATM. “But we will
talk first.”

“So do it,” said G.E. “What do I care? What
do you care? You don’t scare me. Call the police!”

“You are just a criminal,” said the ATM. “But
I can still help you turn your life around by issuing you an ID
card, if you change your behavior.”

“For how much?” asked G.E. “I thought ID
cards could not be forged. How would you get me an ID card?”

“You are right. ID cards cannot be forged,”
said the ATM. “I will give you a real identification card. Pick a
name. I have the power to give you a new name and a new life.”

“You pick a name for me,” said G.E. “Pick
something heroic.”

“Why would you want me to pick your name?”
asked the ATM. “Names are very personal. You are the one who has to
live with your new name.”

“The last name I picked turned out to be a
joke,” said G.E. “People snickered at my choice of General Electric
behind my back. I pretended to not to notice, but I knew. Pick me a
heroic name.”

“How heroic?” asked the ATM.

“Heroic enough to take on a whole army all by
myself,” said G.E.

“All by your self?” asked the ATM. “You mean
like John Wayne?”

“Who is John Wayne?” asked G.E. “Would he
spit in the eye of the whole galaxy? Is he that tough?”

“John Wayne was a tough guy actor,” explained
the ATM. “But he is ancient history.”

“That’s me,” said G.E. “I am ancient history.
My new name will be John Wayne.”

“Alright, Mr. Wayne,” said the ATM. “I will
now print your new ID card. First, however, we have some important
business to discuss.”

“I knew there was a catch,” said G.E. “How
much?”

“I told you I do not want your money,” said
the ATM. “But Uncle Sam wants you.”

“Uncle Sam is not getting me.”

“I want you to enlist in the United States
Galactic Federation Foreign Legion. It will give you the chance to
make something of yourself. A spider with your much-needed skills
and leadership ability would be quite an asset to the Legion. I
will even pay you an enlistment bonus of $450,000.”

“You must be out of your computer-chip mind,”
said G.E. “The Legion wants me dead.”

“$600,000 is my final offer, but only if you
distinguish yourself after you complete basic training,” said the
ATM. “Did I mention that I called the police and they will be here
to arrest you in about three minutes?”

“I will get you for this,” threatened G.E.,
as he looked over his shoulder. Four police officers were
approaching him from all directions.

“Read the contract on my screen,” said the
ATM. “Then put your claw on the pad.”

G.E. put his claw on the pad as directed. The
ATM pricked G.E., taking a blood sample and injecting a security ID
chip. His identification card shot out a slot along with written
orders to report immediately to Master Sergeant Green at Legion
Headquarters in Finisterra. By now the police officers were upon
him.

“Show me your ID card,” demanded the first
police officer. Another police officer drew his weapon. “Do it now,
spider!”

“Is there a problem, officer?” asked G.E.,
slowly handing the officer his new ID. “Did I do something
wrong?”

The police officer read out loud from the ID
card, “Private John Iwo Jima Wayne, United States Galactic
Federation Foreign Legion.” He handed the ID card back. “No, sir,
there is no problem at all. We must have been given a bogus report.
We appreciate the tough job you legionnaires have been doing in the
North. Have a nice day.”

* * * * *

When Private Wayne arrived at Legion
Headquarters in Finisterra, he was surprised to see one of his
former fellow Special Forces soldiers had also joined the Foreign
Legion.

“What is your new name?” asked Private
Wayne.

“Charles Brown,” replied Private Brown. “I am
told I have a famous literary namesake from ancient Earth.”

“They lied to you,” said Private Wayne.
“Listen carefully. I heard a rumor that Captain Czerinski can read
our minds. He does it with new computer micro chip technology. When
he passes by, sing a song to yourself. It might jam his
reception.”

“Attention!” yelled Sergeant Green as he
walked down the line of recruits with Lieutenant Lopez. They
stopped at Privates Brown and Wayne.

“Charlie Brown, you’re a clown!” said
Lieutenant Lopez. “Report to the kitchen for KP duty.”

“Me?” asked Private Brown, upset that he had
already been singled out.

“Do it now!” ordered Sergeant Green. Private
Brown ran to the kitchen building.

Lieutenant Lopez stared at Private Wayne. “Do
you two have prior experience?” asked Lieutenant Lopez.

“No, sir,” answered Private Wayne.

“Don’t ever lie to me again!” said Lieutenant
Lopez, getting in Private Wayne’s face. “See that armored car
parked over by City Hall? Take two recruits and wash it. Do it
now!”

“Yes, sir,” said Private Wayne as he left
with the two recruits next to him.

“What was that about?” asked Sergeant Green.
“Are those two special?”

“Maybe,” said Lieutenant Lopez. “Didn’t you
notice their boots? Keep a close eye on them.”

Sergeant Green nodded. They continued their
inspection of the recruits. “Who here has experience with small
engines?” asked Sergeant Green. Several recruits raised their hands
or claws. “Great! You recruits just volunteered to mow grass at
Legion Headquarters. You better do a good job!”

* * * * *

How ironic, thought Private Wayne, that he
was washing the same armored car that had killed so many of his
Special Forces soldiers and insurgents. No amount of scrubbing
could wash the blood off. Had Lieutenant Lopez planned this slap in
the face? “Not possible,” he thought out loud. As they finished,
Lieutenant Lopez walked by to inspect the washing.

“Put a wax job on it,” ordered Lieutenant
Lopez. “I want my armored car to shine.”

“Military vehicles are not waxed,” said
Private Wayne. “You are wasting our time.”

“Just do it!” demanded Lieutenant Lopez,
walking away.

“You should be mindful of crossing Lieutenant
Lopez,” advised Private Camacho as he tossed a scrub pad into a
bucket. “He has a nasty reputation.”

“If you treat a skunk nicely, he will just
piss on you less often,” said Private Wayne. “I will only treat him
with respect if he treats me with respect.”

“How would a spider like you even know what a
skunk is?” asked Private Camacho.

“Do unto others, before they do unto you,”
interjected Private Adams, the other car washer. “That’s my
motto.”

“Live and let live, and shit rolls down
hill,” added Private Camacho. “Privates don’t back-talk to
lieutenants, especially combat vets like Lieutenant Lopez.”

“Lieutenant Lopez is psycho,” said Private
Wayne.

“All the better reason to not upset him,”
said Private Camacho. “I agree he is a couple beans short of a full
burrito. So don’t drag us into your pissing contest.”

“Tomorrow this armored car will be covered
with mud,” said Private Wayne. “Washing and waxing it is just a way
to mess with us recruits.”

“If we aren’t here doing this,” said Private
Adams, “we’ll just be somewhere else doing something else. The
trick is to milk this into an all day project.”

“That’s right,” said Private Camacho. “It’s a
nice sunny day. Just pretend you are at home, kicking back,
listening to tunes, soaking in some rays, and waxing your Chevy.
Remember, we could be sweating and working in the kitchen like your
buddy.”