Demilitarized Zone Part 11

"You want to negotiate?" asked the spider pitcher. "I will let you talk to my agent."

"h.e.l.lo! Can you hear me now?" asked the spider's agent. "I've been monitoring this call. My client also wants a two year no-cut contract!"

"Who is this?" I asked. "What about those two quick runs?"

"Yes, yes, we can do that," said the agent. "That is the easy part. I am also playing first base."

"I suppose you want to play for the Yankees, too?" I asked, eyeing the spider first-baseman. He was also talking on a cell phone.

"No way, Jose," said the spider first-baseman. "New York ain't much of a town. I want to play for Boston."

"I want two quick runs," I repeated. "Do we have a deal?"

"Deal," both spiders chimed in.

"What do you think?" I asked, turning to Captain Lopez.

"I think Jose needs a new translation device," said Captain Lopez. "We are going to need more than two runs to win this game."

The next Legion batter hit a grounder to third. The long throw to first base was dropped. The next batter hit a change-up over the left field fence. The spider commander charged out of the dugout, carrying an a.s.sault rifle. His own players restrained him as both benches cleared. This time the entire Sheriff's Office was out on the field. Horse-mounted deputies knocked players aside. The spider pitcher and first-baseman fled to the Legion dugout. Once they got to safety, both players gave the one-fingered salutes across the field to their old commander. "Rot in h.e.l.l you incompetent piece of dragon dung!" yelled the spider pitcher.

"Traitor!" the spider commander yelled back. "You both will face firing squads!"

The spiders' new pitcher shut us down, but we entered the eighth inning up 15-13. We were out of pitchers, so I took the mound. I had done some pitching as a kid, but really sucked then. I hoped the computer chip enhancements embedded in my arm would enable me to pitch much better now. The spider commander immediately came out to argue with the umpire. I continued to warm up. My ball was popping pretty good.

"Colonel Czerinski is not listed as a player on their roster," argued the spider commander. "He is ineligible to play."

"I am in uniform, and I am going to play," I responded. "I am a player/manager. I am listed on the roster."

"You are listed as a coach," said the spider commander. "This is against the rules."

"Player, coach, manager? It's all semantics. Perhaps you need to get an update on your translation device," I suggested. "You are losing too much in translation, using last year's model from Radio Shack."

"I want the rules enforced to the letter!" the spider commander shouted at the umpire. "We agreed to abide by professional American League rules."

"What are you afraid of?" I asked. "Me? Yes, of course you are."

"I am afraid of no human pestilence," replied the spider commander. "The integrity of the game is at stake!"

"Colonel Czerinski will be allowed to pitch," announced the umpire. "Play ball!"

I continued my warm up pitches. The sprinkler system came on again. Someone in the stands threw a grenade out in right field. A few shots were fired. During the commotion, the Legion groundskeepers moved the portable outfield fence further out. Remarkably, no one noticed.

My embedded computer chips greatly improved my hand-eye coordination and strength. I gave up no runs in the eighth inning. By the top of the ninth inning, however, my adrenalin was used up, and my arm was sore. Captain Lopez injected me with a shot of something he said would give me a boost. The side-effects were I would not sleep for days. I loaded the bases with three walks, then gave up a run on a long fly ball to the fence in left field. I loaded the bases again with another walk.

With the Legion leading 15-14, the game was interrupted by a New Gobi Desert dust storm. Goggles were needed to see just a few feet away. The field and players were covered with dirt and sand. It got everywhere. After two hours, the game was called, and the Legion team was declared the winner. I was relieved, pleased, and vindicated. Baseball was, is, and always will be, the best game in the galaxy. And, baseball will always be America's game.

Chapter 14.

The speed of light used to not only be king, it was the law. Now that principle was no longer true. As we gadded about the galaxy in an instant, our only restriction was to calculate where we would stop or land. Computers did that for us.

In light of all this transportation technology, it never ceased to amaze me when I found myself traveling in an armored car on a b.u.mpy, dusty dirt road. The road paralleled a ca.n.a.l that seemed to stretch to the horizon. Wheat fields lay on both sides.

General Kalipetsis told me the best commanders get out into the field as much as possible to see their men. When I did not take the hint, General Kalipetsis ordered me to the field. It was just as well. I almost got killed several times in New Gobi, and it did seem nice and peaceful out here in the country. I would miss my once-a-week floatation therapy, but Captain Lopez welcomed the break from garrison duty. He said I was getting needed activity and exercise. Doesn't he realize exercise can kill you? Doesn't he realize exercise can kill you?

Speaking of garrison duty, I got an email about Sergeant Williams. He would soon be returning to from the South Pole. Sergeant Williams was almost killed and would be hospitalized for a while. He reportedly was electrocuted while taking a shower. An improperly grounded water pump sent a jolt of electricity through Williams when he turned on the shower water. The smell of burned hair roused his roommate, and prompt medical response revived Williams. Captain Lopez said this was proof that staying at base and getting fat was unhealthy, even when there was a war on. "You have to keep that cutting edge," reasoned Lopez.

I monitored video from an airborne drone scouting for insurgent activity ahead of our column. I could see movement in an orchard grove, but could not determine who or what was under the trees. I also located a deer carca.s.s alongside the roadway. We suspected it might contain an IED improvised explosion device.

My armored car pulled off to the shoulder of the road just short of the deer carca.s.s. Other armored cars flanked the orchard. Together, they fired machine guns into the orchard. I could see the muzzle flash of an insurgent machine gun firing back, but it was quickly silenced as the armored cars raced to the orchard. A blood trail and the machine gun were all that was found. Perhaps the insurgents dragged their wounded away or were hiding in tunnels. They were not to be found, and we were not spending all day here looking for them.

We were about to resume our patrol when the soft bank of the ca.n.a.l gave way under my armored car. The armored car slid into the ca.n.a.l and sank to the bottom. I was thrown out of the vehicle and sank to the bottom. Weighed down with equipment, I found myself on my back like a helpless turtle, my legs and arms waving and kicking at the blue water and sky above. I felt G.o.d had cheated me. It was not fair that I was going to die by drowning in the middle of a desert. How unlucky was that and ironic? It was right up there with Sergeant Williams being electrocuted in a shower at the South Pole. Even dying from friendly fire would be more glorious than this. As I lost consciousness, light around me faded. A strong hand claw gripped my web belt and pulled me from the water. I coughed up water and gasped for air. Corporal Was.h.i.+ngton dragged me up the ca.n.a.l bank to dry ground.

"Are you okay, sir?" asked Corporal Was.h.i.+ngton.

"Of course he is okay," said one of the new spider recruits. The spider was one of the baseball players that had recently defected. "The Butcher of New Colorado cannot be killed. He is immortal."

"I am fine," I replied. "I never could float."

"You sank like a rock," said the spider recruit.

"What is your name, private?" I asked.

"Jose," said the recruit. "Private Jose."

"I'll bet Captain Lopez suggested that name," I said, still lying there looking up at the others.

"He did," said Private Jose. "How did you know that?"

"Private Jose, go check out that deer carca.s.s for explosives," I ordered. "You will be riding in the point vehicle."

I rode with Captain Lopez to the next town. The sun was high, and it did not take long for me to dry out. We were greeted by both human and spider colonists. They seemed friendly and gave us the locations of houses containing suspected insurgents. They invited us into their homes to give us relief from the hot sun. We drank iced tea in the shade of their patios. At midnight we started kicking in doors. I never liked house searches because I feared b.o.o.by-traps what if a terrorist rigged the entire house to explode? My strategy was to only search a few houses at a time, and do it quickly. I hoped surprise would keep us safe and prevent the insurgents from ambus.h.i.+ng us. So far, most of the tips we were given appeared to be bogus. I suspected some colonists were just getting back at neighbors they had grudges against by sending the Legion to their homes. The only value from searching houses seemed to be that the residents sometimes gave us information about their neighbors.

One such tip proved to be valid. As legionnaires approached the front door, a dog started barking. Privates Camacho and Wayne smashed in the grilled front door with a hand-held metal battering ram. Guido threw in a flash-bang grenade to stun anyone in the first room. Privates Camacho and Wayne quickly entered, taking up positions along the wall. Guido followed, covering the next doorway. Private Camacho flicked on a wall light switch.

A spider insurgent threw a grenade from the next room. Guido fired his a.s.sault rifle as the insurgent ducked back for cover. The grenade hit Private Camacho in the chest, then bounced to the floor at his feet. Training told Private Camacho to throw himself on the grenade, saving his comrades. It would be heroism worthy of the Medal of Honor. Instead, his mind drifted back to grade school. It was a better time. Ray Camacho kicked the grenade like a soccer ball, back into the next room, scoring a winning goal! The explosion filled the house with dust and smoke. The lights went out.

Guido and Private Wayne tossed more grenades through the smoky doorway. Then the legionnaires withdrew to the outside. Cannon and machine-gun fire from one of our armored cars raked the building, reducing it to rubble. A search of the rubble found small arms, RPGs, grenades, land mines, two dead spiders, and a dead dog.

Guido and Private Camacho stood by their postal delivery truck. The hood was up, indicating that they were broke down. Guido could see no traffic on the dirt road for miles. It was another stifling hot day. Guido considered a swim in the ca.n.a.l. It would be great to cool off. But, then he thought better of it. A Legion company lay camouflaged under sagebrush-colored netting along a ridge overlooking the road. Guido did not like being bait for bandits and insurgents. It seemed like every time there was a c.r.a.p detail to be done, Czerinski gave it to him. Guido sat down in the shade by his truck and waited. He took a c.o.ke out of the cooler and chugged it down.

About two hours later, a jeep full of armed civilians stopped. They looked like human bandits. Three adult males stayed in the jeep. A short, dark, teenaged boy wearing an expensive pair of gold-plated, tear-drop Legion sungla.s.ses and a Legion pistol strapped to his hip got out and approached the mail truck.

"Como es usted, el amigo?" asked Private Camacho. asked Private Camacho.

"Where is the rest of your unit, legionnaire?" asked John Hume Ross. "Don't you know it is dangerous out here? It is especially dangerous if you don't belong out here. You should go home."

"We belong wherever the Legion sends us," replied Guido, reasonably. "We broke down. A Legion tow truck will be by soon."

"Would you like to hitch a ride into town?" asked Ross.

"No," said Guido. "We're fine."

"How about some water?" asked Ross, handing Guido a bottle as he walked around the truck. "There is an entire Legion company operating in this sector. Usually I know exactly where they are, but they seem to be hiding today. Where are they?"

"Too bad," said Guido. "I didn't know we were supposed to inform you of Legion troop movements."

"Where is your dragon, Spot?" asked Ross.

"Somewhere close," said Guido. "Do I know you?"

"Not really," said Ross. "I've seen you at the border crossing in New Gobi. Sometimes I would throw Spot candy. Where did you get such a cool dragon?"

"I took Spot from a dead spider," said Guido. "He cost less that way."

"I'll have to get a dragon of my own someday," said Ross. "It's on my list of things to do."

"What are you boys doing out here?" asked Guido. "Are you bandits?"

"We're Militia," replied Ross. "We protect the local towns and keep the spiders in line."

"What is your name?" asked Guido. "Show me your ID."

"What if I said we don't carry no stinking ID?" asked Ross, smiling.

"Then you would be under arrest," said Private Camacho, pointing his a.s.sault rifle at Ross and the others.

Ross ignored Private Camacho. He scanned the ridge line, looking for movement or signs of an ambush. Then he handed his ID to Guido.

"The two of you are in Colonel Czerinski's battalion," commented Ross. "Say h.e.l.lo to Czerinski for me."

"I'll take you to see him if you like," said Guido. "He's not far."

"Not today," said Ross, s.n.a.t.c.hing back his ID back and returning to his jeep. Ross nodded for the driver to go. A minute later they were just a dust trail on the horizon.

Towards evening, a spider on a dirt bike rode by. One of the legionnaires by the broken-down postal truck waved. The spider did not stop, but he did radio the location of the broken-down truck to other insurgents. The dirt-biker waited on a nearby hill for the others to arrive. They would try to take these legionnaires alive. They would make good hostages for a prisoner exchange, and a video of the prisoners would make good propaganda for the cause. The dirt-biker scanned the horizon with binoculars, watching for legionnaires or his insurgent friends. Soon, two beat-up old Toyota pickup trucks full of spiders came into view.

Sergeant Green had been watching the dirt-biker through the scope of his sniper's rifle. As the insurgents came into range, Sergeant Green shot the dirt-biker. Machine-gun fire raked the Toyotas. When the shooting was over, the Toyotas had so many holes in them, they were barely recognizable as trucks.

Captain Lopez walked through the debris, looking for anything of value to Military Intelligence. He estimated they had killed at least eight spider insurgents, but their body parts were everywhere, making the count difficult. Captain Lopez collected IDs, weapons, and communications devices. In one such device he found a text message saying that the spider commander for New Gobi would be in this sector soon. The spider commander wanted to know what Colonel Czerinski was up to, and promised to bring newer and better weapons.

Chapter 15.

John Hume Ross drove his jeep at breakneck speed to the town of Yellow Brick, intent on sounding the alarm. In violation of all local agreements, an Arthropodan marine task force of mechanized infantry was just down the road, headed their way. Yellow Brick was a mostly human enclave north of the DMZ. Although Yellow Brick was inside the boundaries of the Arthropodan Empire, local spider authorities had agreed not to bring large military units to town to enforce Imperial will. Two spider constables kept the peace and handled Imperial administrative duties. The Legion was poised to intervene, should the human population be molested in any way.

Now an air-raid siren sounded in the middle of town. Radio calls for help were being broadcast to the Foreign Legion camp to the south. More radio communications went out to alert the local militia. A barricade hastily went up across a dry creek bridge just north of town. Forty militia had already a.s.sembled at the bridge and were milling around, waiting for orders. They carried the latest Legion a.s.sault rifles and had shoulder-fired anti-tank missiles hidden in the gra.s.s at their feet.

The spider task force, armored cars carrying about a thousand Arthropodan marines, stopped at the north side of the bridge. A spider constable and John Hume Ross walked out to greet them. The spider marine commander and his aides dismounted and met them half way. The marine commander had been instructed to be observant of local customs and sensibilities, but this confrontation bordered on open rebellion!

"Good morning Commander," said the constable, amicably. "Why are you here?"

"It is not my custom to explain myself to the local constabulary," answered the marine commander. "Are you in league with the armed human pestilence blocking the bridge?"

"Certainly not," replied the constable. "But there have been local agreements in place for quite some time, prohibiting large-scale troop occupation. In exchange, the human colonists peacefully submit to Imperial rule and pay their taxes on time. Your presence upsets everything. I insist you go around town."

"Military Intelligence says your human pestilence militia has established a substantial armory here in Yellow Brick," accused the spider marine commander. "I intend to seize their armory."

"You may not enter Yellow Brick," said Ross.

"You and that rabble by the bridge cannot stop me," said the marine commander. "Order your human pestilence corps to yield, or you will be declared to be in open rebellion against the Empire. My armor will crush you."

"No," replied Ross. "You would not dare attack us. We are a legally const.i.tuted militia."

"The Emperor does not recognize the right of armed human pestilence to interfere with his marines' duties on the frontier," said the commander. "You have ten minutes to disperse and to yield the bridge."

About that time, two Legion fighter-bomber jets did a low fly-by. The militia waved and cheered. The lead jet wagged his wings. Ross and the constable ran back to the barricade.

"Spread out," ordered Ross. "Get the anti-tank missiles ready."

"Are they going to attack?" asked a militia lieutenant. "We can't fight against armor."

"We won't have to," a.s.sured Ross. "Those Legion jets put a scare into the spiders. No one fire. Put your weapons on safety. No one wants war, but if war starts, let the spiders start it with the first shot. We will stand our ground here at the bridge. Don't worry. Time is on our side."

The constable ran back to the police station and tried to phone New Gobi Legion Headquarters. The line was busy. Then he unlocked jail cell doors, releasing three drunks inside.