America's Galactic Foreign Legion - Book 20: Time Machine (5 page)

“But the tape.
Was it real? Are you Jesus of Nazareth? Are you the Son of God, abducted by the Legion and brought back through time to the present?”

“Don
’t be silly,” said Jesus, smiling for the cameras. “I could never prove such a thing to unbelievers such as yourself, and I do not intend to try.”

“But many here want to believe,” pressed Coen.
“Was the tape everyone saw a fake?”

“What does it matter?”

“Believe me, it matters. Inquiring minds want to know.”

“I will not speak of such frivolity until I have had a chance to consult with the Pope.
It is my understanding that Christianity has gone viral. I intend to be cautious. The last time I granted an interview with the press, I got nailed to a cross. Do you think I want that to happen again? Oh, hell no!”

“He
’s a fake!” shouted someone from the back.

“Where
’s the real Jesus?” another called out.

“Someone get a rope!”

“That’s enough!” I announced, raising my hands. Legionnaires ushered Jesus out. “The prisoner will be held until fingerprints can confirm his true identity, at which time he may face deportation proceedings back to Mars. I can assure you this is not the real Jesus. The Legion does not engage in time travel, except to document major historical events, or for national security emergencies. Time tampering is illegal.”

The crowd dispersed, many dismayed about having made such a long and expensive trip for nothing.
It was just another tourist trap rip-off, like Mecca, or The Thing along the highway. News crews packed their camera equipment and left. However, my communications pad chimed with a priority message.

“Colonel Czerinski?
This is the Pope. Let me talk to my main man, Jesus.”

Chapter
6

Major Robert Anderson commanded the First US Artillery Regiment at Fort Multrie, Charleston, South Carolina. He knew Fort Multrie was indefensible from Confederate land attack because all batteries at Charleston Harbor pointed outward against the sea. To compensate, Anderson moved his regiment under the cover of darkness to Fort Sumter, one of the most dominant island fortresses in the world.

Major Anderson commanded sixty cannon
s but only eighty-five men, not nearly enough. Worse, most of his guns pointed to the sea, away from confederate batteries. Ammunition and food was low. Resupply was promised, but enemy picket ships and artillery fire kept the Union Navy at bay.

Confederate General P.G.T. Beauregard began the pre-dawn bombardment on April 12, 1861, starting the Civil War.
Six thousand troops waited off shore for the Yankees to be softened up. Major Anderson withheld return fire until daylight to conserve ammunition. His men calmly ate breakfast, prayed, and manned their guns to fight Johnny Reb.

* * * * *

A small odd-looking barge emerged from the water, beaching itself in the shadow of Fort Sumter’s seaward walls.
What the Hell
, wondered Major Anderson, alerted to a lone figure pulling the suspect craft ashore. Anderson directed soldiers to assist.

“Major Anderson, I presume?” asked
the man. “I am General Lopez.” He handed over orders that appeared to be from Don Carlos Buell, Assistant Adjutant General of the Army. Anderson was ordered subordinate to Lopez in vigorous defense of Fort Sumter, and in use of certain secret weapons. “I came to save your ass,” added General Lopez.

“Indeed?” scoffed Major Anderson at Lopez
’s arrogance. “We need food, shot, and powder. Your raft can’t possibly carry sufficient supplies to save us. Where is the navy support I was promised?”

Lopez tossed MREs to Anderson and several soldiers.
They readily accepted the packages, but their mood quickly turned.

“What is this toxic mixture?
You try to poison my men?”

“It
’s an acquired taste,” admitted Lopez with a shrug as he loaded a shoulder-fired rocket launcher. Choosing a vantage point atop the seawall, Lopez laser sited on a floating armored battery adjacent to Fort Multrie and Sullivan Island. The barge boasted two thirty-two-pounders and two forty-two-pounders. The rocket arced to its target, destroying the barge and sending crew and guns to the bottom of Charleston Harbor. Union soldiers stopped firing to gawk from the walls, then began cheering.

Hot shots fired from Morris Island struck wooden structures within the stone wall perimeter, starting small fires.
Major Anderson ordered details to douse the flames. Lopez returned fire, destroying the battery and killing its crew of cadets from The Citadel. Next Lopez targeted a combination of Howitzers, mortars, and rifled cannon from Fort Moultrie and Charleston proper.

Lopez saved his last missiles to set an example.
The Mayor of Charleston and a delegation of leading citizens and onlookers gathered on the docks for a grand view. Picnic baskets and blankets were laid out for the festive event. Lopez’s first missile killed the mayor instantly. The mushroom firestorm lit the early morning mist. A second missile caused more carnage, setting the docks and a warehouse of cotton afire. People ran for the safety of town. Lopez dropped incendiaries in their path, spreading the fire into the Charleston business district. Quickly the fire raged out of control, destroying most of Charleston, killing thousands.

“You deliberately targeted civilians!” accused Major Anderson, outraged as he drew his sword.
“Have you no shame, no sense of honor, no civility?”

“Civility?” asked Lopez.
“This rebellion will cost well over a million deaths and casualties, and those
bendahos
were having a picnic! The enemy and the world need to know from the very start that if you mess with the United States, you will get a boot up your ass. War is not a game or a picnic. Is anything I’m saying sinking in?”

“But there are rules,” insisted Major Anderson.
“You will be held accountable for the massacre of Charleston.”

“Only if we lose.
Put your sword away. Don’t you know better than to bring a sword to a gunfight?”

“What are those terrible rockets you fired?” asked Anderson, softening his tone as he sheathed his saber.
“They are like nothing ever seen before.”

“That
’s for me to know, and you to not know.”

“The history of warfare will be forever changed, and you forever cursed.”

“History will be kind to me, for I intend to rewrite it.”

* * * * *

Charleston burned for days, drawing the attention of the Union fleet. Fort Sumter was reenforced and held by the Union for the rest of the war. Instead of being a hole in the Union blockade, Charleston Harbor was its anchor. Union troops landed at Charleston, routing the disorganized Confederate infantry. General Beauregard died early on, gone missing in the fire. Union troops marched on the capital, Columbia, burning it to the ground, splitting the Confederacy in half. The war continued, but was shortened by a year. Most of the Confederate leadership was tried for treason and summarily faced the gallows.

* * * * *

The Pope called Jesus collect. I handed Jesus the phone through the bars while O’Neil and I listened intently. O’Neil looked like he thought this could be for real.

“We need to talk,” advised the Pope.
“You are a hard man to reach.”

“Can you post my bail?
And hire me a good Jewish lawyer?” asked Jesus. “These MREs are terrible!”

“The Church has its own lawyers in-house,” answered the Pope testily.
“I am calling about your planned return to Old Earth. That might be a problem.”

“I
’m homesick,” argued Jesus. “I want to return to the Holy Land. I miss the camel flees and scorpions.”

“A lot has changed since you were home.
It’s not the same Holy Land you remember.”

“What
’s the problem? Those asshole Romans left long ago. It’s just my Arab and Jewish brothers left now. The Legion has promised me an escort, for a price.”

“The problem is Biblical Prophecy,” explained the Pope delicately.
“Have you read the Bible and all about the Last Judgment?”

“I just finished it,” answered Jesus.
“I enjoyed it immensely, being I had a starring role. The Bible is a New York Times bestseller, and they’re making it into a movie.”

“Yes, indeed.”

“But do I get any royalties for use of my name and persona? No. Why is that?”

“Damn copyright laws expire on older books, or we
’d be rich,” lamented the Pope. “Now everyone pirates the Good Book for free with their Amazon Kindles. Bastards!”

“I still don
’t see a problem returning to the old neighborhood.”

“It
’s Gospel that your return to Old Earth will bring an apocalyptic Judgment Day. There will be a Resurrection of the Righteous, and all alive will be caught up, too.”

“To Hell you say?”

“That is the prevailing opinion.”

“That
’s some sick shit. My return will only help bring God into the hearts of all men. I have no intention of judging anyone. Somehow the word of God got lost in translation. I’ve got enough problems of my own without taking on everyone else’s. I’m broke, and those cheapskates at Walmart are slow-walking on my residual royalties for commercials.”

“It
’s out of my hands. You will not be allowed to return to Earth. Congress has already passed legislation not allowing you to even get past Mars.”

“Superstitious fools.
How can anyone believe the end of the world is coming because of my return?”

“Rumors have been confirmed about an alien invasion swarming our way.
It is not public knowledge, but that fits well with Prophecy and the timing of your fortuitous sudden appearance.”

“Alien invasion?” asked Jesus alarmingly.
“No one told me anything about an alien invasion. Aliens are already here. I met a spider. He seemed nice, and offered to help me escape.”

“I
’m talking about other aliens. Bad aliens, mostly.”

“Oh.”

Chapter 7

An abrupt knock on Bill’s college dorm room door interrupted his slow rolling of marijuana reefers. “Who is it?” he shouted over Pink Floyd, Dark Side of the Moon. “I’m busy!”

“It
’s Manny. Let me in!”

“Manny?
Manny who?”

“Manny Lopez.
We talked earlier by phone. Let me in before the dorm police bust me.”

“Manny?”

“Yes, Manny!”

“Manny is not here!”

General Lopez kicked the door open, splintering its frame. Bill tried to hide the good stuff, but Lopez deftly scooped the baggie up, stuffing the pot into his shirt for safekeeping. College kids!

“Are you the cops?” asked Bill, trying to look normal, donning sunglasses.
“That’s my roommate Adam’s dope. I swear, I’ve never seen that dope before. Are you the cops? Where’s your badge?”

“
I’m not the cops, and I don’t have no stinking badge,” replied Lopez contemptuously. “I am Manny Lopez. I brought you a gift from the future.”

“You
’re not the Man?” asked Bill, breathing a sigh of relief. “You’re not a narc?”

“Will you focus!” snapped Lopez, shaking Bill by the collar.
“I brought you a blueprint for a standardized computer operating system. I call it Windows, because you can open and close each window as you access needed information.”

“What have you been smoking, man?” asked Bill incredulously, thumbing through the specs.
“This won’t work. It will crash and freeze up all the time. No one wants standardization. Computers are all about being free to do your own thing, and storing free porn.”

“Maybe now, but later Windows will be the next big thing.
I want you to work on Windows full time. You’ve learned all you can at school. The train is leaving the station now. You need to get on board.”

“Drop out of school?
My parents would kill me.”

“You will produce great work in the future.
It is your destiny to lead America and the free world into the computer age,” insisted Lopez, dropping a duffle bag of cash at Bill’s feet. “I’m buying stock in your future success. Consider it an offer you can’t refuse.”

* * * * *

General Daly ordered Jesus released on his good behavior. By now most tourists and pilgrims had left, no longer believing he was the real Jesus. Carlos O’Neil knew otherwise. Released at the same time, O’Neil followed Jesus to Starbucks for a latte. O’Neil would be Jesus’ first disciple.