America's Galactic Foreign Legion - Book 3: Silent Invasion (9 page)

* * * * *

PRESS RELEASE FROM LEGION HEADQUARTERS IN NEW
MEMPHIS:

Military Governor General Kalipetsis today
by executive order decreed that the unprovoked killing of any wolf
to be a Class A Felony (capital offense). General Kalipetsis said
the wolf is vital to the fragile ecosystem of New Colorado because
it rids the forest of invasive pests that cause untold harm to the
ecology and the quality of life for all. The General went on to say
that the ecology of New Colorado has been so abused by war,
radiation, and exploitation that he hoped this one small
incremental step would be the first of many steps to undo the
extensive damage across the globe. He ordered all Legion units to
be sensitive to the environment when planning operations.

When asked if coyotes and foxes might get
similar protection in the future, General Kalipetsis said, “I don’t
give a rat’s ass about coyotes and foxes.”

The general’s order immediately drew praise
from the Audubon Society, PETA, ALF, and several Democrats in
Congress.

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Chapter 7

At Finisterra, the radiation levels were
cause for concern. I took anti-radiation pills, but after a while
my hair started falling out and my gums started bleeding. The
spiders were not affected by the radiation. I’ve been told that
cockroaches can survive high levels of radiation, so I guess it
makes sense that the spiders would thrive in it.

My company prepared to move southeast to New
Memphis, leaving security to a battalion of Green spiders from the
Waterstone National Guard. That was fine with me. Finisterra had no
shortage of mud. There was certainly a magnificent supply, and I
would not miss the place. There was a lot of economic activity in
Finisterra. The miners, mostly spiders, were still digging a
fortune of gold out of the Singh Mine.

Guido, who still had a large storage unit of
contraband in Finisterra, announced a going-out-of-business sale
open to the general public. The good stuff like SAMs, RPGs, machine
guns, and C-4 sold early before I had a chance to check for illegal
sales. I did not want any more nukes put on the market.

Private Wayne was fascinated by a stolen
motorcycle Guido had for sale. Guido reduced the price because no
one wanted to ride a motorcycle in the North’s cold, wet weather.
Guido let Private Wayne take the bike out for a test spin. Private
Wayne did a one-wheeler down Main Street, and then sped out of
town. He fell in love with the motorcycle.

“You are a natural biker,” commented Guido,
when Wayne returned. “Because you’re my friend, I’ll let the bike
go for only $1,500.”

“I’ll buy it,” said Private Wayne, not even
bothering to haggle. “I love the wind and bugs in my face.”

“Be sure to wear your Kevlar helmet,” warned
Guido. “These hogs are dangerous to ride.”

“What are you going to do?” snickered
Corporal Williams. “Become a Hell’s Angel?”

“I do not believe in either Hell or angels,”
said Private Wayne, adjusting his translation device. Sometimes the
meanings of word combinations got lost in translation. He accessed
the database. Hell’s Angels was an Old Earth criminal motorcycle
gang from California. Origins dated back to disaffected servicemen
(possibly airmen) from World War Two. The gang was exterminated
centuries ago by the United States Galactic Foreign Legion during
the California Unrest.

Private Wayne viewed old photographs and
video. He saw Hell’s Angels patches and insignia. Private Wayne was
awestruck by the sight of hundreds of Hell’s Angels on motorcycles
rumbling down the middle of the road. He saw the brotherhood of it.
So what if he was a spider and the Hell’s Angels were just human
pestilence? The Hell’s Angels had a military origin, and that was
close enough for him. Private Wayne was determined to be a Hell’s
Angel.

When the shuttles took the company to New
Memphis, Private Wayne had his motorcycle loaded on board. At first
the cargo master gave Private Wayne an argument about the Harley
being too heavy and a nonmilitary item, but the big spider slipped
him some cash, and all was forgotten.

At New Memphis, Private Wayne paid to have
his motorcycle painted and chopped, like the bikes he saw in the
database. He cut the sleeves off an old Legion jacket and put
Hell’s Angels patches all over it, including the Winged Death Head
patch, and had ‘Hell’s Angels’ emblazoned across the back. ‘New
Colorado’ was also displayed, just under the Death Head.

Private Wayne rode around New Memphis in his
new attire. He drew a few stares, mostly from people who had never
seen a spider on a motorcycle. The Hell’s Angels were ancient
history, so no one paid much attention to the lettering on his
back. Private Wayne read in the database that the mortal enemy of
the Hell’s Angels was the Mongols Motorcycle Gang. Being that there
were no biker bars in New Memphis, Private Wayne sought out the
toughest bar he could find to fight his own Mongols. Private Wayne
found a tavern called The Longshoreman. It had a sign at the front
door that said, ‘No Spiders Allowed.’ Private Wayne walked inside
and sat down on a barstool. The biggest ugliest human pestilence he
had ever seen immediately confronted him.

“Can’t you read?” asked the giant human. “The
sign says no spiders allowed.”

“So kick me out,” said Private Wayne. “Or are
you chicken?”

“It is only out of respect for the Legion
uniform you are wearing that I don’t throw you through that
window,” said the giant. “I used to be in the Legion.”

“Don’t let that stop you,” said Private
Wayne. “I have not killed in days. I am feeling the need
again.”

The giant human felt a bit uncomfortable
about getting in a fight with an obviously unstable legionnaire
spider. Besides the sleeveless jacket covered with the odd patches,
the spider wore several knives. Bulges under his clothing partially
concealed handguns. Who knew what else this crazy spider
carried?

“What is Hell’s Angels?” asked the giant.
“Are you a spider bible thumper? I don’t think anyone in here wants
to be saved.”

“It is a motorcycle gang,” answered Private
Wayne.

“I saw your bike when you pulled up,” said
the giant. “It’s a cool bike. But you must be crazy to come in here
with all your flash.”

“So what is your point?” asked Private
Wayne.

The giant backed away and settled at the end
of the bar in front of his drink. As he sipped his whiskey, the
giant punched ‘Hell’s Angels’ into the database. Several other
customers did the same. Then the giant came back over to Private
Wayne and tapped on his shoulder.

“Finally work up the courage to try and kick
me out?” asked Private Wayne enthusiastically. “I knew I would find
my Mongol in here.”

“I don’t know what a Mongol is,” said the
giant. “My name is Tiny. I am a longshoreman. I want to join your
Hell’s Angels.”

“No way,” said Private Wayne. “You
cannot.”

“Why not?” asked Tiny, clenching his fists.
“Is the Hell’s Angels for spiders only? I checked the database. It
said the Hell’s Angels were founded by veterans. I’m a vet.”

“No, it is not that,” said Private Wayne.
“You do not understand. I just came in here to pick a fight.”

“Please,” said Tiny. “You have to let me
join. I quit the Legion because the fighting and war never seemed
to stop. The war just keeps on going in my head. It sometimes
drives me crazy, like you. I’ll fight you if that’s what you want,
if that’s what I need to do to get into the Hell’s Angels.”

“No!” said Private Wayne. “I do not want to
fight you. Not anymore.”

Other customers crowded around. “I want to
join the Hell’s Angels, too.” said a small man who had been
drinking too much. “I’m a vet. I fought in the tunnels back when
you spiders first nuked New Colorado.”

“I am the only Hell’s Angel,” said Private
Wayne. “That is why you cannot join!”

The bar patrons drifted away. A few staggered
out to admire Private Wayne’s chopped motorcycle.

“It doesn’t seem fair,” said Tiny. “If we
want to be Hell’s Angels, we should be able to be Hell’s Angels.
This is America. It’s a free country.”

“Fine!” said Private Wayne in frustration.
“You can turn this place into a biker bar, and you all can show up
next Saturday on your choppers and be Hell’s Angels. See if I
care!”

* * * * *

A week later, Private Wayne rode his
motorcycle back to The Longshoreman Tavern. There were five chopped
motorcycles set in a row out front, parked in the handicapped
space. The ‘No Spiders Allowed’ sign was missing. Several customers
wore sleeveless Legion jackets with Hell’s Angels patches on the
backs. Even some females sported Hell’s Angels patches.
Biker
babes?
Private Wayne had read about them on the database, too.
There were even spiders in the tavern now.

As Private Wayne entered, everyone cheered
and held up their beers. Tiny gave him a big bear hug. Free drinks
were pushed at him. When all the celebrating died down, one of the
few spiders in the tavern came over and sat down next to Private
Wayne. He wanted to talk.

“You are a legionnaire?” asked the
spider.

“Yes,” said Private Wayne, sensing hostility.
“What is it to you?”

“Nothing,” said the spider. “Before you
turned traitor, what were you then?”

“I will kill you for that,” said Private
Wayne, reaching for his knives and gun.

“I apologize,” said the spider. “I did not
mean anything by that. I was just speaking from habit. What were
you before the Legion?”

“I was an insurgent leader. Before that I was
a Special Forces marine commander,” said Private Wayne. “I have
never told that to anyone. I do not know why I told you.”

“I am a special forces team leader that got
stranded on a secret mission here in New Memphis,” said the team
leader. “I joined the Longshoreman’s Union as a disguise, waiting
for the chance to escape New Memphis and to get back to my own
lines.”

“Why are you telling me this?” asked Private
Wayne. “I will not help you join your old unit. In fact, I may kill
you.”

“Working on the docks, I heard about you and
your Hell’s Angels,” said the team leader. “Everyone is talking
about you. I want to join.”

“Join so you can escape to the North on a
motorcycle?” asked Private Wayne. “That will not work.”

“No, you do not get it!” said the team
leader. “I want to join the Hell’s Angels.”

“It is you who does not get it,” said Private
Wayne. “There is no Hell’s Angels.”

“But I bought a motorcycle,” said the team
leader, pointing to the parking lot. “It looks so fine. See how I
had it fixed up? I made Hell’s Angels patches and everything. I am
ready to ride!”

With that exclamation, the crowd turned and
cheered again. “Ready to ride!” they chanted, carrying the two
spiders out to the parking lot and placing them on their bikes.
More bikes arrived. One by one, the big Harleys were started up.
The rumble of engines and blue smoke was intoxicating. A biker babe
hopped on to the back of Private Wayne’s bike and held on tight.
Her human body was so hot it caused Private Wayne to sweat, even
though it was a chilly night.

Private Wayne led the pack of Harleys down
Elvis Street through the center of New Memphis. Ten bikers and
their biker babes flipped the bird to The Man as they passed the
Sheriff’s Office. The entire event was recorded and broadcast
planet-wide on Channel 7 World News Tonight with Phil Coen.

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Contents

Chapter 8

At the next peace negotiations meeting,
conducted on a large barge north of New Memphis along the New
Mississippi River, the spider Fleet Commander demanded the arrest
and extradition of Carlos Bonanno.

“We do not extradite our citizens to hostile
nations,” said General Kalipetsis. “Even if they are lowlifes like
Bonanno.”

“Excuse me, but you do, and you will,” said
the Fleet Commander. “You signed the Anti-Banditry Resolution. It
calls for the extradition of criminals who commit acts of violence
and murder across national borders and then seek the protection of
those borders. Bonanno’s criminal syndicate is part of a criminal
network that spans the galaxy.”

“So you say,” said General Kalipetsis. “I am
still not convinced. I do not want to set a dangerous precedent
that may be abused in the future.”

“I am handing you an Imperial Arrest Warrant
for 1,246 counts of murder and terrorism against Carlos Bonanno,”
said the Fleet Commander. “This is in regards to the cowardly
nuclear bombing of my command starship. Attached is a file
containing particulars that include written statements, accounts,
and confessions supporting the indictment. Even your own
subordinates agree that it is time to wipe out the Mafia once and
for all.”

“My subordinates sometimes act without my
authority,” said General Kalipetsis, glancing at me and Lieutenant
Lopez. “But that is between us.”

“Do you accept the validity of the arrest
warrant?” asked the Fleet Commander. “Obedience of the law is
demanded, not asked for as a favor.”

“It is a question of national sovereignty,”
said General Kalipetsis. “We will not give up any citizen until our
relations are normalized. And we certainly will not give in to
coercion.”

“If you can not reign in your dangerous
criminal elements, the Empire may be forced to move you back to the
original Demilitarized Zone.”

“If pushing us back to the DMZ is your
ultimate goal, you will have a long time to wait,” said General
Kalipetsis. “Hell will freeze over before that happens.”