America's Galactic Foreign Legion - Book 1: Feeling Lucky (5 page)

“
This is a bunch of chicken
shit, is what I think.” I checked my card, scanning through the
contract and attachments until I found the fine print: ‘United
States Galactic Federation Congressional declaration of war binds
you to serve … for the duration…’
I am so
screwed.
I kicked the ATM and staggered off
down the street, limping on my sore foot.

CHAPTER 6

Sergeant First Class Arthur Mendoza stood on
stage gazing at about one thousand recruits. “Gentlemen! Welcome to
Fort Reagan. Welcome to the all-volunteer United States Galactic
Federation Foreign Legion. Welcome to Mars. And welcome to the
First Division. Are we all glad to be here?” he bellowed.

“
Yes Sergeant Mendoza,” we
all answered half-heartedly.

“
You had better answer
louder than that when I ask you a question, or I’m going to think
some of you don’t want to be here,” said Mendoza, cupping his hand
to his ear as if he was hard of hearing. “And if I think that, you
and I are going to have some serious issues.”

“
Yes Sergeant Mendoza!” we
all screamed.

“
That’s better! Now drop and
give me twenty push-ups.” Mendoza paced the stage while we counted
off the push-ups. “The United States Galactic Foreign Legion has a
proud battle-proven tradition of being the first to fight, dating
back to the mid-Twenty-first Century, when the old United States
decided to stop pussyfooting around and opened a can of whupass on
Islamic fascist terrorists, communists, greeners, OPEC, China, and
Democrats. The United States conquered the world, creating a new
world order, stable food and energy prices, and eliminating the
threat of weapons of mass destruction ever being used between
nation states. A few bush wars and some guerrilla conflicts
followed. The Foreign Legion has served first in all these
conflicts. The Legion includes soldiers of all races, states,
ethnic groups, lawful religions, sexes, and creeds. Hell, we even
have a few volunteers from the Kingdom of California. Yes, I’m
proud to say, we even take surfer dudes. There is no discrimination
tolerated in the Legion.

“
With advances in wormhole
space travel, quantum physics, and beam technology, a new modern
United States Galactic Federation Foreign Legion protects humanity
on all our colonies across the stars. Many people wonder all their
sorry lives if they’ve made a difference. Legionnaires do not have
that problem! The Legion is mankind’s first line of defense against
the Spider Empire. Joining the Legion is the most noble,
worthwhile, selfless commitment many of you will ever undertake.
Serve honorably and with enthusiasm. Years from now you will look
back fondly at your Legion service in the year 2215 and remember it
as the best time of your life. That is, if you don’t get killed.
That was a joke, son! A joke is a serious thing. Laugh!

“
Now listen up! You will
split into three groups. Group A will be all of you who have no
prior military experience. You people will be going through an
extensive two week basic training that will test the limits of your
physical and mental character. Group B will be any of you with
limited military, reserve, or militia experience. We will evaluate
your need for training and orientation on a case by case basis.
Group C will be the combat vets. I will be checking your card
files, so do not get into the wrong group or your ass is grass and
I’m a lawnmower. For those of you from Mars who don’t know what a
lawnmower is, you don’t want to find out!
Move!
”

I got into group C and gave Sergeant Mendoza
my card. Mendoza yelled at me for being in the wrong group, and
told me to do twenty push-ups. Sergeant Mendoza directed me to
group A. “What do you mean group A?” I asked. “I was in the
army.”

“
Two years in the Arizona
National Guard in Yuma does not qualify you as a combat-seasoned
soldier,” replied Sergeant Mendoza as he threw my card back at me.
“And prior experience means in
this
century, old man,” he added, looking at me
suspiciously. I didn’t look as old as my records.

“
Hey, the California
Frontier is the still the Wild West,” I countered. “It’s dangerous
out there on the edge of civilization.”

“
Dangerous if you get a
virus in one of those whore houses along the border,” said Sergeant
Mendoza, dismissing me. “Or smashed by a surf board.”

“
Now wait a minute,” I
insisted. “See this scar on my forehead? It’s a bullet wound. That
should count for something. Getting shot should be considered
combat experience, shouldn’t it?”

Mendoza took my card back and frowned as he
read the data. “It says here that the circumstances of your gunshot
wound are still under investigation by local authorities on
Mars.”

I pulled Mendoza off to the side and said in
a hushed voice, “I will pay you $100,000 if you change my service
record to show that I got this gunshot wound in combat under heroic
conditions.”

“
You are trying to bribe me?
I could have you shot,” said Sergeant Mendoza, reaching for his
sidearm.

“
How about $200,000?” I
asked.

“
You have a deal, my friend.
But you should be careful of what you wish for,” warned Mendoza,
laughing. “With experience comes certain
responsibilities.”

* * * * *

Three hours later, all of us ‘seasoned’ vets
were promoted to corporal and shuttled up to Space Station Lech
Walesa for orientation and equipment issue. We were now in the
Third Battalion of the United States Galactic Federation Foreign
Legion First Division, designated as scouts and commandos. Our job
was to jump first and to direct air support from space. It seemed
easy enough when listening to Sergeant Mendoza explain our job.
Mendoza said he had jumped or ‘beamed down’ lots of times. In 2215,
everything was high tech. Just punch in the coordinates, and shock
and awe rained down on the spiders from warships and weapon
platforms in orbit, explained Sergeant Mendoza. But we still needed
boots on the ground to finish a war. Infantry would always be
needed. That was the Legion.

Sergeant Mendoza, who was quite friendly now,
personally showed us some of the ordinance we would be dropping on
the enemy. “With pinpoint accuracy, we can hit an enemy spider hole
with everything from a nuke to a bag of cement,” bragged Mendoza.
“The trick is to find the spider hole. That is your job.”

“
Bag of cement? Why would we
want to drop a bag of cement on anyone?” I asked, eying the large
orbiting cannon pointed at Mars.

“
Czerinski, you drop a
2,000-pound load of cement on someone from a hundred miles up, and
it will ruin their day. In fact, anyone in a bunker, building, or
armored personnel carrier will be dead. And, kinetic impact rounds
limit collateral damage in urban combat zones. No shrapnel, no
radioactivity, and no environmental impact statement. You kill only
what you hit. Nothing is left but a little dust residue. This space
cannon represents cutting-edge space weaponry.”

“
I heard rumors you have all
sorts of lasers and ray guns up here,” I said, disappointed by the
space cannon and talk of dropping cement on the enemy. “Is this all
you’ve got?”

“
Ray guns and lasers?”
scoffed Sergeant Mendoza. “Get real. This isn’t some retro Star
Trek convention we’re running here. This is the Legion. And we are
ready for the spiders.”

We spent the rest of the day getting uniforms
and equipment. Sergeant Mendoza gave me a tour of the armory. He
showed me my new M26A infantry rifle that fires two shots at once
and cuts down trees on automatic. It even had thirty mini-grenades
in the lower barrel. Speaking of grenades, I spied some fragmentary
hand grenades on a shelf and reached for one. “Can I have
this?”

“
Not until you get to New
Colorado,” said Sergeant Mendoza.

“
Can I buy it?” I asked,
pulling out my card.

“
Maybe,” answered Sergeant
Mendoza.

We negotiated a deal for the grenade.
$10,000. Quite pleased with himself, Mendoza asked, “Want to know a
secret?”

“
Sure,” I
replied.

“
In four hours we all beam
to New Colorado. You better not kill anyone with that grenade
before then.”

* * * * *

Sergeant Mendoza let me take
a shuttle back to Mars. Feeling a bit depressed and self
destructive, I walked up to a roulette wheel and bet $1,500,000 on
red, and won. The casino put my image on a big screen up high so
everyone could see the big spender. Gamblers cheered. “Good Luck
Mister C.” announced a pit boss over a public address system. I let
it ride, and won again.
Great.
I had over $6,000,000 on my card, and no time to
spend it. I was going to die on New Colorado, probably today. The
pit boss changed the dice. I suspect the new dice had been stored
in the freezer just for me.

Before leaving, I eyed a pretty card dealer,
checking her name tag. “Patty, can I interest you in a date?” I
asked.

“
No,” she
replied.

“
But I’m rich,” I pointed
out, deftly. “We could have a lot of fun.”

“
No. Not ever.
Never.”

“
Did I mention I joined the
Legion to fight aliens?” I asked. “I might even get
killed.”

“
We at Harrah’s will all
miss you Mister C.,” she said. “I sincerely hope the spiders do not
eat you.”

“
Please, just a short date.
It would be your patriotic duty to comfort a lonely soldiers about
to go off to war.”

“
What part of
no
did you not
understand?” asked Patty. “The N or the O?”

“
So, you are saying
no?”

“
I would rather date an
alien than you.”

“
Do you have an evil twin
sister I can date?” I asked.

“
I have a sister, but she is
not evil or a twin.”

“
Introduce me.”

“
Lisa would not like
you.”

“
Why?”

“
She only likes unemployed
felon losers with lots of tattoos,” explained Patty. “You have no
tattoos.”

“
How do you know that?” I
asked. “I might have a few secret hidden tattoos.”

“
You only want one
thing.”

“
You mean Mexican
food?”

“
You know. What all guys
want.”

“
Money?”

“
No.”

“
Monday Night
Football?”

“
Yes, that’s it,” said
Patty. “You would break Lisa’s heart by abandoning her on
Mondays.”

“
But today is Tuesday,” I
argued. “Let’s go out.”

“
Where?”

“
Taco Bell, then my place.
My ship is leaving soon.”

“
No, I am calling
security.”

“
Okay, I can take a
hint.”

* * * * *

I walked to the chip store again and
confronted the tech clerk. “What’s your name?”

The clerk didn’t recognize me until he heard
my voice again. He was surprised to see me. “Lou Nelson,” he
answered, eying the scar on my forehead. “I thought you died.”

“
Not yet,” I said. “I want
to buy two more Fountain of Youth chips.”

“
No can do, sir,” he
replied. “Fountain of Youth chips are illegal now. Oh, don’t worry
about the chip in your arm. You are grandfathered in. But now it’s
illegal even to admit the technology exists.”

I eyed the young tech clerk with my best mad
dog stare and pulled out a wicked Legion commando knife. “I will
get the chips I want, even if I have to cut them out of your arm,”
I threatened. “I know you have black market connections.”

“
Okay! But the price has
jumped. Please put that knife away.”

“
How much?”

“
$800,000 apiece,” he said,
checking my card and smiling. “And I see that you are good for
it.”

We made the transaction. I had the two chips
mailed to Earth, avoiding USGF customs by sending them to a post
office box in Los Angeles, Kingdom of California. An E-mail
attachment contained instructions and a large sum of money
addressed to William and Olga Czerinski. It was totally out of
character for me to do anything that wasn’t related to my own
self-interests, so I sent the life-saving chips to my parents with
a message asking that they figure out a way to get me out of the
United States Galactic Federation Foreign Legion.

* * * * *

I walked through Harrah’s Hotel & Casino
again, taking one last look at the table games. I thought about
going ‘all in’ like they do on the public broadcast game shows, but
I was too depressed even to gamble. It was getting late. Not too
many people were out. Instead, I covered my face with my cap and
approached the United States Galactic Federation Foreign Legion
ATM. I set the timer on the grenade and rolled it under the ATM.
The explosion was horrific, but Mars now had one less smart-ass
ATM.

Later, at Space Station Lech Walesa, I waved
at Sergeant Mendoza as he carted some supplies toward the beam
transport facility. “Art, I have one last favor to ask of you.”

“
That’s Sergeant Mendoza to
you. And I don’t think I should do you any more favors. I just
heard a news report from Mars about a grenade blowing up a federal
ATM at Harrah’s.” Mendoza sighed as I pulled out my card. “What do
you want?”