America's Galactic Foreign Legion - Book 4: Demilitarized Zone (21 page)

“Christ!” said Juardo. “You really are
Lawrence of fucking Arabia.”

* * * * *

Barker and Juardo watched the night sky,
waiting for the starship to arrive. Juardo made a deal with
Formicidaen pirates. The first delivery of drugs would be on credit
because of Juardo’s financial problems. Juardo would use sales to
pay back the ant-like Formicidaens, and to pay for future drug
deliveries. The merchandise was high-grade synthetic designer blue
powder compatible for both spiders and humans. That would be an
important plus along the DMZ. The starship came in low and fast to
avoid planetary defenses. The ship’s ant captain greeted Juardo.
“Get your slaves unloading product now!” ordered the captain. “I
will not be on the ground longer than ten minutes.”

Ex-militia, Mafia, and crew members
frantically went to work unloading crates. Juardo, Barker, and the
ant captain stood at the starship doorway, watching the progress.
After about five minutes, Legion helicopter gunships firing Gatling
guns strafed the starship. Smoke and secondary explosions came from
inside. Arthropodan jets streaked overhead. Barker and Juardo
stumbled through the chaos and destruction to the tunnel entrance.
They fled deep below the surface. After about a hundred yards, the
lights went out.

“Damn it!” yelled Juardo. “Everything is
lost. How did they know?”

Barker stopped and lit a cigarette to settle
his nerves. He offered a cigarette and matches to Juardo. As Juardo
lit his cigarette, Barker shot him in the face. Then Barker
continued his escape. Back at the surface, Barker could see flares
drifting down from the sky, lighting up the homestead. Legionnaires
and spider marines had already secured the scene. A handful of
prisoners sat in a circle, hands bound behind their backs and eyes
blindfolded. They were surrounded by guards pointing assault
rifles. The Formicidaen captain lay dead by his starship. Barker
pulled out a communication device and spoke. “Now will you let me
go?”

“Yes,” answered Captain Lopez. “Good work!
I’ll let you walk to Redrock where you can cross the MDL. Corporal
Tonelli will be expecting you. After you cross, travel as far south
as you can. Do not ever come back to the DMZ.”

* * * * *

Barker waited patiently in line to cross the
MDL. When it was his turn, Guido did a perfunctory check of
Barker’s ID and nodded for him to pass. Barker smiled and reached
into his pants pocket. Spot alerted and wagged his tail in
expectation of a treat. Barker tossed a chocolate buttercup to the
dragon.

Guido pulled back sharply on Spot’s tether
and intercepted the buttercup. After close examination, Guido
tossed the candy back to Barker.

“You eat it,” ordered Guido.

“No thanks,” replied Barker. “I’m not
hungry.”

“I insist,” said Guido, now pointing his
submachine gun at Barker. “Eat it.”

“You are paranoid,” said Barker, shaking his
head. “I would never harm a dumb animal.”

“Eat the buttercup, or I will shoot you where
you stand,” threatened Guido. “Do it now.”

“No one has any sense of honor these days,”
said Barker, casually popping the chocolate into his mouth and
chewing. “Satisfied?”

Guido checked to make sure Barker swallowed,
then said, “Sorry. Don’t try to feed the dragon again.”

“I don’t blame you for not trusting me,” said
Barker. “But you are getting a bit touchy.”

“You can pass,” said Guido.

“The Mars-Hershey Corporation makes the best
chocolate in the galaxy,” commented Barker as he reached into his
pants pocket again and pulled out a handful of chocolates, placing
them on a tabletop.

“You can pass,” repeated Guido, sweeping the
candy off the table and into the trash.

“I almost forgot,” said Barker. “Rudy Juardo
says hello. Do you remember Rudy?”

“Juardo can go to Hell,” said Guido, pointing
his submachine gun at Barker again. “Pass through.”

“I’ll probably join Rudy soon,” commented
Barker, hurrying away. He did not look back as he jogged to a
7-Eleven store just down the street. By now he was perspiring. He
bought a jug of milk and a box of crackers. Already cramping up
from the rat poison he had just ingested, he gulped down the milk
and ate crackers as fast as he could. Then he shoved his fingers
down his throat, causing a gag reflex. He vomited along the side of
the road, drank more milk and ate more crackers, and inducing more
vomiting.

In spite of repeated vomiting, Barker doubled
over from cramps and lost consciousness. Late at night he woke up
in a ditch, feeling better. The worst was over. He looked back at
the traffic crossing the MDL and swore he would return to the DMZ
someday to exact revenge on every last one of his enemies. “I will
kill them all,” he muttered, shaking his fist. “Starting with
Czerinski.”

###

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~A SPECIAL TRIBUTE~

My Dad’s Last Chapter

Prior to his death, my father, Henry S.
Knight, Jr., stayed in a hospice. His mind was sharp, but his body
was failing. Dad desperately wanted to give me an idea for a new
book, so I listened. Despite his weak voice, I could understand
most of what he was saying, and I got enough to put together this
short story about luck – a reoccurring theme in my stories,
too.

I am including Dad’s story at the end of
America’s Galactic Foreign Legion – Book 4: Demilitarized
Zone
as a tribute to his life. Dad, a PFC in the Army Air Corps
during World War II, was stationed at Roswell, New Mexico. I am
sure that reports of alien sightings at Roswell and the development
and explosion of the first atomic bomb in New Mexico had a profound
influence. Dad has always been fascinated by UFOs and nuclear
technology. The nut didn’t fall far from the tree – me too. My
father raised my sister and me by himself, and did a good job.

This short story is not science fiction, but,
like my writing, is intended to be humorous. Humor can be a
difficult thing. I hope readers enjoy this short story. I know I
enjoyed writing it in honor of my father.

###

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CHANGING LUCK

by

Henry S. Knight, Jr.

I needed a change of luck. As I passed a
small storefront in Palm Springs, California, advertising palm
readings. I stopped. “Why not?” I asked myself. I entered and
greeted a gypsy lady sitting comfortably on floor pillows.

“I don’t really believe in palm readings or
any of your mumbo jumbo,” I announced. “But I really do need a
change of luck. Can you help me?”

“You seek advice on love?” asked the gypsy
lady, grasping my palm in both hands and examining my life line
with great interest. “That will be twenty dollars for a love
connection.”

“I am already engaged,” I replied. “I want to
be rich.”

“Fortune hunter, eh? If you seek financial
advice, it will cost you thirty dollars.”

“You’re ripping me off,” I complained, as I
grudgingly forked over the money. “This had better be good.”

“So, you want to know how to make your
fortune? You want to know which path to take? You were wise to come
to me. There are many perilous turns down the road to financial
success.”

“All I want to know is when my luck will
change for the better,” I explained. “I will make my fortune at the
casino.”

“Oh, well, that is easy,” replied the gypsy.
“Your luck will change when Hell freezes over.” She let loose of my
palm. “I’m through with you. Leave now.”

“That’s it? I want my money back!”

“Not likely,” snickered the gypsy, stashing
the cash down her bra. “Next customer!”

“I demand more!”

“Most do,” said the gypsy with a sigh of
exasperation. “Ingrates!”

The chime of a cell phone sounded. The gypsy
pulled the cell phone out of her purse. “What? I told you to never
call me here. Oh, it’s for you.” She handed me the cell phone.

“No one knows I am here,” I commented,
suspecting another rip-off. “Hello?”

“This is the Devil. I understand you wanted
to talk to me. You have questions? Make it quick. It’s election
year, and I’m busy. What do inquiring minds want to know?”

“How’s the weather down there?” I asked. “Are
you really the Devil?”

“You putz!” exclaimed the Devil. “Who else
would it be? Don’t you have caller ID? I am freezing my ass off
down here, and you waste my time with doubts. If I say the weather
is frosty, then it is! What’s it to you?”

“Are you sure?” I asked, excitedly. Maybe my
luck was going to change after all. “How can it be that it’s a cold
day in Hell?”

“Haven’t you been listening to the news?
Everywhere there is climate change, even in Hell! It’s all because
of the ozone layer being depleted by hair spray.”

Still doubtful, I checked the caller ID. Sure
enough, it read: ‘The Devil.’ I could hear what sounded like
typewriters clacking in the background.

“What is all that clicking noise?” I asked.
“Typewriters?”

“That’s my teeth clattering from the cold,”
griped the Devil. “I told you I’m freezing down here. Aren’t you
paying attention? It’s cold enough to freeze a Die-Hard
battery!”

“Impossible!” I argued. “There’s no such
thing as the Devil. How come no one has ever seen you?”

“I’ve been on vacation, but I’m back now. You
want me to prove I’m for real? How about I guarantee the Arizona
State Sun Devils win their next three football games, and the Rose
Bowl?”

“That would be good,” I commented,
speculating on how much money I could win, betting on the games.
“If you can do that, perhaps my luck truly has changed! I’m going
to Vegas, baby!”

“I love Las Vegas,” said the Devil. “That
town never sleeps, and it’s hot, hot, hot! Hell has a substation
there, and I have lots of recruits and associates living and
working right on the Strip. It’s hot there, but it’s a dry heat,
you know.”

“Yes, Palm Springs is like that, too.”

“I love Death Valley, too,” added the Devil.
“I always have good luck picking up biker chicks in Death Valley.
There’s also the Devil’s Race Track and the Devil’s Golf Course for
entertainment. So, are you going to bet on Arizona State?”

“Yes, I believe I am.”

“Then you will owe me,” advised the Devil.
“And I always collect my due.”

“Whatever,” I replied dismissively, with no
thought to consequences. “Could you do me one more favor? I always
wanted to win the Publisher’s Clearing House contest.”

“Ha! Fat chance of that ever happening.” The
Devil laughed wickedly. “Those people are a bunch of crooks. They
will all eventually join me in Hell for eternity. Stick with the
ASU bet. They’re a sure thing in the Rose Bowl.”

###

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~ABOUT THE AUTHOR~

Walter Knight

Walter 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 Walter Knight and his books, visit his web site at
www.waltknight.yolasite.com

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