Demilitarized Zone Part 10

t.i.t-for-tat was becoming part of military procedure in the DMZ. Guido successfully bombed the spiders' fruit tree. The next day I arrived at my office to find the front door ajar. The office had been ransacked. Missing was a pistol and a pair of sungla.s.ses I had left on my desk. However, the office safe containing doc.u.ments and petty cash was not touched. It was probably just kids, I thought. When I pulled open the top drawer of my desk, a live Arthropodan grenade rolled out. I dove for cover as the grenade exploded. My injuries were minor, but medics would be digging out small pieces of shrapnel from my backside for months. Some days are just not worth getting up for. Some days are just not worth getting up for.

Captain Lopez informed me that blowing up the spiders' fruit tree was not enough of a response. He felt that this weak symbolic Legion response to the golf course attack was not proportionate to the spiders' intent to cause great harm and loss of life. Captain Lopez said the spider commandos rigged explosives at the golf course clubhouse to detonate after first responders arrived at the scene. It was only luck that the clubhouse exploded early and no one was killed. The motive seemed to be mindless terrorism. Captain Lopez insisted terrorism could not be tolerated. That was one problem with having an intelligence officer. He always found bad news for me. And Captain Lopez seemed intent on finding as much bad news as he could. At this rate, I was going to need the services of the floatation center more than once a week.

I noticed the spiders were building a golf course too. Maybe I would call in an air strike on the 17th hole. It would be more t.i.t-for-tat and might keep bloodthirsty Lopez happy. hole. It would be more t.i.t-for-tat and might keep bloodthirsty Lopez happy.

After a few days, I asked Captain Lopez if there were any updates or further information about my office burglary. Lopez said he was still reviewing video surveillance records in the area. The investigation continued. He thought anyone wanting to kill me should have used a bigger bomb that was what he said he would do. I felt so much better hearing him say that.

I lost interest in golf. It was a boring sport, anyway. In fact, I was not so sure golf should even have been considered a sport. A sport required a team. I had the golf course converted into a baseball field. First Division's recreation league fielded teams to play ball. I noticed this often attracted the interest of spider marines across the border. They gathered in large numbers at the MDL fence to watch games. Finally the spider guard at the border crossing approached Guido about their mutual interest in baseball.

"Did you know we play baseball, too?" asked the spider guard. "We are rabid fans of the game. I play every chance I get."

"I didn't know you even had a ball field," replied Guido. "Do you have a local team?"

"This military sector has a marine team," advised the spider guard. "But they do not play much because the Legion keeps shooting at us."

"Ditto," said Guido. "Is your team any good?"

"No," said the spider guard. "They suck. How about your Legion teams? I see you have a league. That is awesome."

"They're just amateurs," said Guido. "Most of the hitters couldn't bat themselves out of a wet paper bag."

"That is too bad," said the spider guard. "I was going to suggest a game between us. Maybe even some small friendly wagers. But if you think a Legion team would not be compet.i.tive, it probably would not be worth the effort to set up a game."

"Your players are so out of practice, I would not want to take advantage of the situation by placing bets," said Guido. "But, to further interspecies understanding and goodwill, I will present the idea to Colonel Czerinski."

"I normally do not approve of gambling," said the spider guard. "But a baseball game might generate more interest if a few small friendly bets were allowed to be placed. Our players are so out of shape, you will probably win by ten runs."

"I'm catholic," said Guido. "Usually I don't gamble much, either. But I'll take your money."

"How much money are we talking about?" asked the spider guard. "Just a little chump change? Or are you feeling bold?"

"How much can you afford to lose?" asked Guido. "Baseball is America's game. You can't beat us. Our local talent is strictly amateur, but it's better than anything you can field."

"Put your money where your mouth is, legionnaire," hissed the spider guard. "New Memphis bookies can handle all your action. Who knows? You might get lucky."

"Luck won't have anything to do with it," said Guido. "Baseball is embedded in our genetic code. You spiders just learned the game yesterday."

"You spiders?" said the spider guard. "What do you mean by 'you spiders'? I hope you human pestilence bet the farm. I need all the extra cash I can get for my investment portfolio."

"Whatever," said Guido. This is going to be easy money, This is going to be easy money, he thought. he thought. Whoever heard of aliens playing baseball? Whoever heard of aliens playing baseball?

"Is there any way we can fix the game?" I asked. "I like to bet on a sure thing."

"Not unless you want to throw the game," said Guido. "It's hard to do business with the spider commander."

"Losing a baseball game to the spiders is not an option," I said. "Not on my watch."

"We need to play this smart," said Captain Lopez. "What kind of odds are the New Memphis bookies giving?"

"Surprisingly, the spiders are favored," said Guido.

"Someone knows something we don't?" I asked. "Have we been set up?"

"I've heard rumors the spiders are flying in a bunch of ringers from the professional leagues on Arthropoda," said Guido. "We need to get a stipulation that all players be military and local."

"Even bringing in players from the North is a violation of the spirit of our agreement," protested Captain Lopez. "Just give me the word, and I'll have that shuttle shot down while it's still in orbit."

"Can we bring in our own ringers?" I asked.

"On such short notice?" asked Guido. "We can try."

"Do it," I said. "How come the spiders have time to bring in pro players and we don't?"

"I think they have been planning this game for quite some time," said Guido. "Now that I think about it, we are being played."

"What else can we do?" I asked. "I am not shooting down any shuttles."

"Cheat," said Captain Lopez. "Cheating is a baseball tradition. We're human. It's our game. We should be able to out cheat the spiders. We have centuries of baseball cheating experience on them."

"Can we pay off the umpires?" I asked.

"No," said Guido. "The New Memphis Sheriff's Office is providing the umpires. They can't be bought. We've tried that before. Remember?"

"Maybe, maybe not," I said. "Try."

"We have enough baseball talent and expertise right here in First Division to beat them," said Captain Lopez. "I'll put together an all-star roster from the recreation leagues. My Military Intelligence people will work with the players to see what technology we can use to help give us more of an advantage. And guess what? We already have one of the best pitchers in the Legion."

"Oh?" I asked. "Who?"

"Me," bragged Captain Lopez. "My knuckleball and spitball can't be hit."

"We have one week to make this happen," I said. "I'm betting a lot of money on this game. If I lose my money, someone will be joining Sergeant Williams, counting weather balloons and penguins at the South Pole. I don't forget, and I don't forgive."

Weather for the game was perfect. The sky was blue, and the temperature was moderate by local standards 90 degrees. Captain Lopez recruited a fine team and organized an extensive support staff. I looked out to the center field stands. A legionnaire scout team had a spotting scope set up, pointed at home base. They radioed they should have no problem stealing signs from the catcher. Video cameras covered the base coach positions, and listening devices were installed in the spiders' dugout. Our pitchers would be throwing 'heavy' baseb.a.l.l.s. The baseb.a.l.l.s had been humidified, then frozen earlier that morning. We were storing them in dry ice chests in the dugout. We all had corked bats. Other bats had been coated with a layer of lacquer, making them as hard as metal. Sergeant Green and I labored to carry a cooler of 'special' Gatorade to the spider dugout.

"Do you think we really need to cheat to beat a bunch of spiders?" asked Sergeant Green. "It just doesn't seem right."

"It's only cheating if we get caught," I replied. "We won't get caught. Getting caught would be unprofessional. Call it gamesmans.h.i.+p. It's a baseball tradition. It's an American tradition. So is winning a tradition I aim to maintain."

"What's in the Gatorade?" asked Sergeant Green.

"Something nasty Captain Lopez cooked up," I said. "I'm not sure what's in it. Just don't spill any on yourself. It might have some nerve agent mixed in."

The spider commander met us halfway to the spiders' dugout. He was managing for the spiders. He ordered the Gatorade poured out on the ground. I walked around the puddle, watching the gra.s.s wilt.

"I know better than to let my team drink your poison," said the spider commander. "And we found your listening devices in the dugout, too!"

"I don't know what you are talking about," I said. "I heard the New Memphis mob is still upset about you bombing their brewery. It was probably them."

"That is ancient history," said the spider commander, looking up in the stands for Mafioso types. He didn't see any Italians except Guido.

"I called Rudy Juardo and reminded him of your handiwork," I said.

"I am warning you," said the spider commander. "I have taken special security precautions. Legion provocations will be dealt with harshly."

"I should have had your team shot down like Captain Lopez wanted," I said. "I didn't do it because we can beat the best ringers you can field."

"Play ball!" shouted the umpire.

We had home field advantage. Captain Lopez took the mound. Lopez threw mostly knuckleb.a.l.l.s, with a few fastb.a.l.l.s to keep the hitters honest. The first spider hitter seemed agitated and highly animated. He continuously waved his bat, and was in and out of the batter's box, calling timeout and adjusting his equipment. He choked way up on the bat and hit a couple foul b.a.l.l.s. Finally I called timeout and approached home plate. The spider commander immediately charged to home plate too.

"This spider is amped up," I complained. "He's higher than a kite. Check the dilation of his pupils!"

"You can't prove that! Team Leader #39 did not take drugs," the spider commander objected.

The umpire looked at Team Leader #39's eyes. There were eight eyes, and they did not all point in the same direction. "Good grief," he mumbled, then turned to us and ordered, "Managers, get back to your dugouts. Play ball!"

Captain Lopez then 'plunked' Team Leader #39, putting him on first. The spider easily stole second base, and then third. He was brought home on a weak single. That spider stole second base, too. I called timeout and went out to talk to Captain Lopez. "This is not a good start," I said. "I have several million bet on this game. I thought you said you could pitch."

"I can't believe how fast those spiders are," complained Captain Lopez. "They must run sixty miles per hour."

"I'm taking care of that," I said. As I spoke, the automatic sprinkler system came on, delaying the game about a half an hour. Tarps could not be found because it never rains in New Gobi. No one could figure out how to turn off the sprinklers. In the meantime, the base pads turned to wet clay. The soft pads slowed the spider runners considerably. When the game resumed, the spider on second was thrown out while trying to steal third. Lopez finished the inning, down only 1-0.

The spider pitcher had some wicked action on the ball. The first two batters struck out. I called timeout again, and ran out on the field. "Examine that ball!" I told the umpire. "He's doctoring the ball."

The catcher immediately threw the ball back to the pitcher. I ran after the pitcher demanding to see the ball. The pitcher shoved me back, causing both benches to clear. When order was restored, the umpire took possession of the ball. Several st.i.tches were cut, and the ball was scuffed up a bit.

"It's just my claw," explained the spider pitcher. "Sometimes the ball accidently gets nicked."

"Don't let it happen again," warned the umpire, tossing the ball aside. "Play ball!"

The spider pitcher 'plunked' our batter, too. The next batter hit a home run he knew what pitch was coming because the spotter in center field radioed in the sign. Minutes later, a fight erupted in center field between legionnaires and spider marines. The spotting scope was broken and thrown out onto the field. The fight continued until Legion security clubbed and pepper-sprayed as many spiders as they could catch.

We went into the second inning, up 2-1. Captain Lopez struck out the side. As he walked off the mound, the spider commander ran onto the field to confront Lopez and to complain to the umpire. "There is a brown smudge on one of the digits of this human pestilence," accused the spider commander.

"It's just dirt and rosin," explained Captain Lopez, holding out his offending thumb.

"There is more under the brim of his cap," yelled the spider commander.

"That's just more dirt," advised Captain Lopez. "I give my word as an officer and a gentleman."

"It could be pine tar," said the umpire.

"And maybe he was scratching his b.u.t.t," I yelled, marching up to the center of contention. "I am sick and tired of the commander's hara.s.sment of my players!"

"Wash your hands and get a new cap," ordered the umpire. "I am warning everyone. I am kicking players out of the game if this nonsense continues."

During the next inning, the Legion scored seven runs, going up 9-1. But it came to a cras.h.i.+ng end when our cleanup hitter broke his bat. The bat was corked.

"You are out of here!" yelled the umpire, ejecting the batter. "I want all your bats checked. I want bats picked at random to be sawed and examined."

"You can't do that," I argued. "That was someone else's bat that got mixed in with ours from the recreation league. It will take too long to saw open the bats and have them examined."

"I am making time," said the umpire. "The matter will be investigated."

"What? If I find out you have been paid off by the spiders, I'll have you shot. Do you know who you are talking to?"

"I know who you are, Colonel Czerinski," said the umpire. "This game has not been compromised, and I will not be intimidated."

I kicked dirt on home base as we talked. When the umpire pulled out his brush, about to clean up my mess, I s.n.a.t.c.hed his brush and threw it into the stands. The crowd cheered as I walked away. The umpire, not catching what I had done, swept the plate off with his hands.

In the fifth inning, the Legion was up 11-2 when the spider commander called timeout and complained about Captain Lopez again. An examination of the baseball showed a cut.

"What now?" asked Captain Lopez, holding out his hands. "I washed the rosin and dirt off my hands and got a new cap. What more do you want? It's not my fault you spiders can't hit."

"Search him!" demanded the spider commander. "This human pestilence is cuffing the ball."

The umpire checked Lopez' glove and patted him down. A file was found in Lopez' hip pocket.

"I'm a knuckleball pitcher," explained Captain Lopez. "I need to keep my fingernails filed to get a proper grip on the ball."

"I warned you earlier I would not put up with more nonsense," said the umpire, giving Lopez the thumb. "You are out of here!"

Both benches cleared again, and there was some pus.h.i.+ng and shoving while our relief pitchers scrambled to warm up. When order was finally restored, the sprinkler system came on again. Captain Lopez sat down in the dugout, saying he could not leave the stadium for security reasons. Our new pitcher was Private Krueger. He claimed he had pitched back in junior high school and had quality time in the recreation league. Krueger gave up five runs. The next pitcher wasn't much better. By the middle of the seventh inning, the score was 13-13. As I watched the spiders take the field, I began to worry. Their new pitcher was getting a good groove and was shutting us down. Then my cell phone rang. "This had better be important," I growled.

"I wish to defect," said the voice on my phone.

"What?" I asked, switching to speaker so Captain Lopez could listen. "Now? Who is this?"

"This is the pitcher," said the voice. "I am also the Arthropodan team leader who blew up your golf course."

"That was good work, team leader," I said. I looked out to the mound and saw that the spider pitcher was indeed talking on a cell phone. The pitcher waved.

"Thank you, sir," said the spider pitcher. "I have specific issues with my commander and with the Empire in general. Political disillusionment forces me to defect. I want to pitch for the New York Yankees."

"Sure," I said. "I can arrange that. But first I want you to give up at least two quick runs."