Read America's Galactic Foreign Legion - Book 22: Blue Powder War Online
Authors: Walter Knight
America's Galactic Foreign Legion - Book 22: Blue Powder War (18 page)
“Okay, I’m coming out!” cried Coles.
Coles surrendered, hands raised high. He was quickly identified as Charles Coles, drug kingpin and suspect in the murder of General Daly. I drew my pistol for his summary execution. Just as I aimed at his forehead, I was interrupted by General Kalipetsis, chiming on my communications pad.
“Czerinski? Congress just legalized blue-powder. The Empire is following suit. You are ordered to stand down. Cease and desist all drug interdiction operations. The War on Blue Powder is over.”
“Anything else?”
“I see on helmet camera you’ve taken Charles Coles into custody. Let him go, pending prosecutor review. Do you understand?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Good job. You’ll get your star yet.”
After disconnecting, I removed my helmet, duct-taped my camera, and shot Charles Coles in the head.
The War on Blue Powder is over when I say it’s over.
Now it’s over.
Chapter 23
Mission accomplished, I retired to the Blind Tiger Casino to have a few drinks in memory of legionnaires fallen in the War on Blue Powder. I had requested permission to use the time machine for a rescue mission to save General Daly, but these days it literally takes an act of Congress to use the time machine for any purpose. Daly’s one star didn’t rate a rescue, so I resigned myself to just getting drunk.
I ordered a pizza, then noticed a commotion at the bar. A Legion sergeant was getting free drinks and attracting lots of attention. His display board of campaign ribbons and medals was quite impressive, serving on planet New Colorado from the Great Frozen North all the way to the South Pole. I shook his hand.
“Where did you go through commando training, bro?” I asked conversationally. “It looks like you’ve been around.”
“Fort Reagan on Mars,” answered Sergeant Jeremy Hill. “It was six months of the most intensive combat training offered in the galaxy. I can kill a spider instantly five different ways with just one finger. With all five fingers that’s twenty-eight different ways. Both hands, fifty-nine types of slimy arachnid death. Include my feet, and the possibilities are endless. I killed seventy-seven spiders with my bare hands just last year.”
I wasn’t sure about his math and asked, “Where were you awarded your first Hero of the Legion Medal?”
“The Battle of the Caves during Operation First Contact. I personally saved Colonel Czerinski by throwing myself on a spider grenade.”
Sergeant Hill unbuttoned his khaki uniform shirt to reveal several impressive scars on his pale white torso. Females of several species gathered to rub Sergeant Hill’s chest for luck, pinching his nipples for more luck. I held a small rad-meter to his Hero of the Legion Medal. It was real, made from genuine radioactive Japanese iron ore.
“You doubt me?” asked Sergeant Hill indignantly. “If you weren’t an officer...”
“You’ve been to the South Pole?” I pressed lightly. “I hear it’s cold down there.”
“Oh, hell yes!” exclaimed Sergeant Hill. “I took part in putting down the Penguin Rebellion while on gulag duty. The South Pole is fifty shades of frozen hell.”
“You served with Colonel Czerinski at the South Pole, too?”
“I was Czerinski’s driver. I personally pulled Czerinski from frozen death when his jeep fell through the ice.”
“You’re good friends?”
“He drinks too much, but we’ve seen death and suffered much together.” Sergeant Hill leaned in and whispered conspiratorially, “I’m one of the few people in the galaxy who knows Czerinski’s middle name.”
“Is that so?” I said as the bartender slid my hot and cheesy pizza toward me.
“I know what the ‘R’ in Joey R. Czerinski stands for, but it’s top secret, and I’d have to kill you if I told you. Then, I’d have to kill myself, and several possible witnesses at this bar, in that order.”
“The ‘R’ is classified?”
“Exactly. It’s to prevent identity theft.”
Corporal Wayne, a large spider legionnaire, squeezed between us at the bar to order a pitcher of beer. Sergeant Hill gave Corporal Wayne a sour face, sliding his drink away to make room. He gestured at Wayne. “Politicians should never have let those damn spiders into the Legion. It dilutes Legion integrity and morale to stoop to such an abomination just to make recruitment quotas.”
“Sergeant, would you please hold up one of those lethal fists of fury?” asked Corporal Wayne, stoic as ever. “I’ve never been in the presence of such heroic human pestilence hands.”
Sergeant Hill immediately showed off his mighty right fist of fury. With one swipe, Corporal Wayne deftly sliced off the hand at the wrist. It plopped onto my pizza.
“Sorry about your dinner, sir,” said Corporal Wayne contritely. “I’ll buy you another pizza.”
“Damn right you will!” I replied, picking up the hand and dipping it in Wayne’s pitcher of beer to wash it off. I placed the hand on my communications pad for a scan.
Surprise, surprise.
“I see no record of you ever serving in the Legion.”
“I just retired,” Hill screamed, writhing in pain on the floor, clutching his bloody stump. “I did extensive work for the CIA. My records are sealed to protect my family from terrorist retaliation. My whole career is classified!”
“Classified as bullshit,” I commented, removing his Hero of the Legion Medal. “I don’t need to get hit in the face with bullshit to smell bullshit. Do you want your hand back for a souvenir?”
“Medic! I need medical attention!”
Medic Elena Ceausescu staggered from the dance floor to render first aid. “That’s got to hurt,” she slurred.
“Please, do something!”
We dragged Hill to the pizza oven, where the wound was properly cauterized by pressing it against the searing grill. Medic Ceausescu poured beer over the sizzling stump and sealed it with duct tape.
Ha! Another use for duct tape.
Hill was in and out of consciousness, probably in shock. I slapped Hill awake to be interrogated.
“Admit you’ve never been in the Legion,” I demanded, “and you might live past today.”
“I’ve never been in the Legion!”
“Stolen valor is a capital offense,” I continued grimly. “Fortunately for you, the Legion faces recruitment quota shortages. You quality for the infantry, for which there is a never-ending demand. I am drafting you into the United States Galactic Federation Foreign Legion.”
“Does that mean I can still get free beer?”
“No, but the Legion has a great medical plan. You will be fitted for a new metal hand.”
“I want my old hand.”
“Too bad, so sad. After discharge from the infirmary, you will report to Corporal Guido Tonelli at the main border crossing gate. It will be the most intensive two hours of Legion orientation the galaxy has to offer. Make something of your sorry self. I’ll be watching you.”
* * * * *
Corporal Tonelli was busy on the phone. He told Private Hill to go outside and wave traffic through, and to stay out of trouble. Under no circumstances was Private Hill to cross the yellow line painted on the ground north of the guard shack.
Bored, Private Hill walked boldly to the yellow line.
So that’s the Empire
, he mused. Private Hill lifted his foot, extending it defiantly in the air just across the line. Nothing happened.
Talk about living life on the edge!
He dared the spiders to confront his trespass.
The spider guard in the opposite guard shack continued reading his paper and talking on the phone to Corporal Tonelli. Emboldened, Private Hill placed his foot on the ground across the yellow line. His last act of defiance activated a mini-laser landmine. The explosion blew off a piece of Private Hill’s foot. Startled, Corporal Tonelli and the spider guard rushed to investigate.
“What the hell, Guido?” asked the spider guard, already pushing a broom to sweep bloody boot and bone fragments back across the yellow line. “I’m sick and tired of always having to clean up your mess!”
“I can’t fix stupid,” Corporal Tonelli said with a shrug as he dragged Private Hill back to the guard shack and America. “Fortunately, the Legion can fix your foot. You’ll be okay when the pain stops.”
“Do I get a real Purple Heart for this?” asked Private Hill, dreaming of glory and free beer.
“No.”
* * * * *
They say the first one hundred sixty years of childhood are the hardest. Whoever ‘they’ is, I’m going to kick their ass. Life had better get easier as my Fountain of Youth chips get older. I’m in for the duration. The Legion promised an upgrade. It’s guaranteed in my enlistment contract.
I like to think I’ve made a difference. Legionnaires make a difference where ever they go, and I’ve been across the galaxy, so I know I’ve made a difference, except when I didn’t. America is bigger than me or any legionnaire, so the galaxy is safe. God bless America.
###
ZOMBIE MISSOURI
The zombies are coming, the zombies are coming!
Great googly giant balls of string, they’re already here.
Oh, crap. Grab the cat food.
Run!
Dig into some bloody good dead humor.
Buy it.
Read it.
Do it now.
~ABOUT THE AUTHOR~
Walter Knight
played football on Tucson High School’s last state championship team (1971). He served three years in the army, and the GI Bill paid for his college education, helping him earn degrees from Fort Steilacoom Community College, Central Washington State College, and the University of Puget Sound School of Law.
Walter lives a very quiet and private life, residing with his family and horses, dogs, cats, and fish atop a hill in rural Washington. Walt enjoys taking road trips to explore ghost towns and casinos.
To find out more about the author and his books, visit his web site.
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