America's Galactic Foreign Legion - Book 2: Reenlistment (9 page)

“This is the only road to the North,” said
#4. “You should be able to easily harass convoy traffic. The forest
canopy is a perfect cover for hit and run tactics.”

“I do not like this wild forest,” commented
the dragon leader. “I heard the human pestilence have seeded the
forest with vicious predators from Earth to control the deer and
other pests. Last night I heard a God awful scream as some poor
animal got killed.”

“No animal can stand up against your assault
rifles,” said #4. “With these weapons, you will rule the Northern
Territory.”

“Sir!” interrupted a Special Forces sergeant.
“We found an old prospector who says he has information about the
Legion being in this area.”

“Bring him in,” said #4. When he saw the
prospector, he was shocked by his renegade appearance. The old fart
entered the camp wearing a human cap and tugging at an animal of
Old Earth origin. “Is that a Legion hat?”

“Of course it is,” said the prospector. “They
came through here about a week ago.”

“What were they doing up here?” asked #4.

“Looking for you,” said the prospector. “A
captain told me engineers would be coming through to build a bridge
at Finisterra.”

“What are you doing up here?” asked the
dragon leader.

“Minding my own business is what I should be
doing,” said the prospector. “I thought the war was over, but I now
see you insurgents and marines. Are you all slow learners or just
lost?”

“You will stay in camp for a while as our
guest,” ordered #4.

“Why?” asked the prospector. “I have my own
camp.”

“For security reasons,” said #4.

“I was doing my duty while you were still an
egg,” complained the prospector. “Who do you think you are,
harassing me like this?”

“It’s only temporary,” said #4.

“As big and majestic as the North Country is,
you would think a spider could find some elbow room,” griped the
prospector. “But no! You busybody types have to get into everyone’s
business. I am not staying in your camp another minute. It’s too
crowded for my tastes, and I don’t like the company.” The
prospector spit some chew on the ground and led his donkey into the
forest.

“That prospector did not seem too happy. He
might tip off the Legion about our presence,” said the dragon
leader.

“Kill him,” said #4. “Kill the Earth animal,
too. I can still smell its stench.”

The dragon leader nodded to two insurgents.
They quickly dashed into the brush after the prospector. About five
minutes later, the whole camp heard a grenade explode. The two
insurgents did not return. Their bodies were never found.

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CHAPTER 8

From his hiding place, the spider Special
Forces sergeant watched the human pestilence convoy of about thirty
trucks pass. His one hundred insurgents would cut off retreat and
ambush any help that was sent.

The convoy drove a couple miles down the road
to a bend in the road where it had to slow down. Private Nesbit was
riding in the lead armored car when it hit a land mine. Nesbit was
thrown out the back door by the force of the explosion. The convoy
was halted by the resulting traffic jam.

Three spiders stepped from the thick forest
and threw armor-piercing grenades. More vehicles caught fire.
Private Nesbit shot one of the spiders. A machine gun on a ridge
overlooking the convoy sprayed the trucks and legionnaires with
more bullets. Private Nesbit crawled on his hands and knees to the
rear of the convoy. It began to snow.

Armored cars were driven wildly into the
ditch in an attempt to establish a defensive perimeter. Machine
guns and cannons fired into the forest. Mortar shells hit the
convoy. Trucks carrying bridge spans and parts caught fire and were
abandoned. Two helicopter gunships assigned to convoy escort
strafed suspected insurgent positions on each side of the road. A
spider soldier fired a heat-seeking rocket that hit one of the
helicopters and brought it down. Smoke from the crash drifted over
the battlefield.

Private Nesbit crawled into the overturned
command car and radioed the T. Roosevelt Space Weapons Platform for
air support. Within minutes, cluster bombs were dropped from space,
blanketing both sides of the road. The forest exploded. As quickly
as it started, the ambush ended. The insurgents pulled back to
predetermined staging areas. Legion jets appeared and dropped more
bombs on the forest.

The convoy was wrecked. Legionnaires
abandoned equipment, piled into the remaining vehicles, and
retreated. Another vehicle hit a land mine, springing a second
insurgent ambush. More machine gun fire raked what was left of the
convoy. Private Nesbit fired a red smoke flare into the forest to
mark enemy positions. Jet fighters flattened that section of
forest. The spiders withdrew again.

The insurgents suffered few casualties. Their
plan was to hit quickly and withdraw quickly, and to hit again
tomorrow. The second ambush worked to perfection. The intervention
of the T. Roosevelt was a surprise, but even the best laid plans
are not perfect. A few reckless spider insurgents stayed behind and
danced atop the Legion vehicles to celebrate before fading back
into the forest. It was all filmed and eventually sent out over the
internet on the insurgents’ website. #4 and most of his Special
Forces marines had already left on their shuttle for Finisterra. He
left a sergeant and four advisers to help organize the next
attacks.

In orbit above New Colorado, the captain of
an Arthoropodan Special Forces support ship watched with interest
as the T. Roosevelt dropped its ordnance. The captain’s orders were
to drop more supplies, mostly arms and food, to the insurgents, and
to be available if needed. Now seemed to be a time of need. The T.
Roosevelt, preoccupied by its bombardment of the planet surface,
would be an easy target of opportunity. As they approached for
attack, missile detection alarms sounded. The captain’s ship was
being targeted by a stealth starship. They never knew it was the
Shenandoah that killed them. Death in space is quick and
violent.

* * * * *

The five spider Special Forces marines
huddled around the campfire. They were frying venison steaks.

“I think our charges did very well,”
commented the sergeant. “They followed instructions and routed the
human pestilence with minimal losses. If it had not been for the
Legion air support, we would have wiped the convoy out
completely.”

“Still, we have big problems,” replied a
corporal. “We are now stuck here. We have lost contact with our
supply ship. Our stashed vehicles are useless because the Legion
controls the only road out of here. We have plenty of weapons and
ammunition, but our food is running out.”

“I guess we will have to dine on steaks all
winter,” said a private. “It could be worse.”

“It already is worse,” said the corporal.
“The deer are getting scarce. If it keeps snowing, we not only will
starve, we will all freeze to death.”

“We could build shelters,” suggested the
sergeant.

“For over two hundred fighters?” asked the
corporal. “The plan was to stay mobile so that the Legion could not
pin us down with their superior numbers, firepower, and air
support. The plan does not work if we try to survive the winter in
cabins.”

“What are you suggesting?” asked the
sergeant.

“We can hunt. We brought winter gear,” said
the corporal. “Most of the fools that came out here with us brought
no winter clothing. They think this is one big camp-out. The
weather is turning polar. Some tough decisions need to be made. I
for one do not want to share our food or what little else we have
with them.”

“What can we do?” asked the sergeant. “We are
all in this together.”

“No we are not,” said the corporal. “We
should leave them. It is eight hundred miles back to Disneyland,
but it is only two hundred miles to the river. We walk out of here.
When we get to the river, we build a raft and float to safety.”

“Why don’t we just call for the shuttle to
pick us up,” asked a private. “We can join #4 at Finisterra.”

“They aren’t answering their radio either,”
said the corporal. “Something has happened to them. We may be
alone.”

The sergeant looked over at the next
campfire. A drunk insurgent drinking from a vodka bottle fell
backwards into the snow bank. His comrades laughed.

“You are right,” said the sergeant. “We
should hike to the river. But we cannot just leave them. We could
lead them to the river, too.”

“Haven’t you been listening?” asked the
corporal. “They have maybe two days food left. They won’t make it
that far. And the Legion would detect large movements of troops. We
need to take what food we can steal and carry, and get out before
they realize their situation. We are on our own now. We have to do
what is necessary for us to survive.”

“We will leave at midnight,” said the
sergeant. “We will raid the supply cache for food before we
go.”

* * * * *

Wolves evolved to fear man. This instinct was
an important survival trait. Wolves wanted nothing to do with man.
They did not even like the smell of man. Man stunk with sweat and
other odors.

Spiders were another matter. Spiders were
something new. Spiders even smelled like prey. The wolves had been
watching the spiders for quite some time. When five spiders left
their fire, they plodded through the snow in a long strung-out
column. Herd animals did that, too. Unlike herd animals, the
spiders had no lookouts. Even those at the front and the rear
walked with their heads hung low, miserable from the cold. It was
careless.

Wolves were not as smart as spiders or men.
But the wolves were in their element. Deep snow and a cold wet
forest worked in their favor. The wolves of New Colorado were
larger than the wolves of Old Earth. Perhaps that was because they
ate better on New Colorado. Scientists may have tinkered with their
genes when the wolves were put here, but there was no proof.
However, wolves on New Colorado were definitely more
aggressive.

The five spiders were an opportunity that
could not be ignored. The pack of twenty-five wolves struck from
all directions. Surprise was total. The spider marines were able to
fire their assault rifles, but not before the damage was done. All
five spiders were seriously injured. The sergeant looked down at
his broken and missing limbs. The others were in no better shape.
Dazed by the ferocity of the attack, they just lay there in the
snow.

“What kind of planet could be so cruel?”
cried the sergeant. “I hate this place.”

Falling snow had already covered his legs.
The sergeant looked up the ridge. The howling monsters stared down
at him. Time was on their side. It was so cold. He felt so tired.
The sergeant drew his pistol and fired several shots at the wolves.
The shots missed. Then he shot himself.

* * * * *

“Our Special Forces friends left,” said an
assistant dragon leader. “They left a note saying they had another
mission.”

“Good,” said a private as he took another
swig of vodka. “We don’t need them. We just defeated the whole
Legion, and we will do it again without their help.”

“What mission could they have now? What would
be more important than fighting the Legion here and now?” asked the
dragon leader. “Which direction did they go?”

“The snow covered their tracks. Maybe they
are joining #4 at Finisterra,” said the assistant dragon leader.
“Will this snow ever stop?”

“We need a bigger fire,” commented the dragon
leader, shivering from the cold. “This one is going out.”

“There is no dry wood, what with all the rain
and snow,” replied the private. “I don’t even have an ax. We need
to go back to town.”

“We need shelter,” said the assistant dragon
leader. “The supply bunkers are too small to fit us all.”

“The bunkers are full, and they won’t let us
in,” complained the private, throwing away his vodka bottle. “We
are out of vodka, too.”

“And we have another problem,” added the
assistant dragon leader. “There have been desertions.”

“Why?” asked the dragon leader. “We just
fought a great victory. Morale should be high. Where would they
go?”

“To surrender,” said the private. “At least
the Legion has food. What good is victory if we are starving?”

“We have no food?” asked the dragon leader.
“Now I know why the marines left. Put a guard on the food
caches.”

“It’s too late,” said the private. “The food
is gone. All the supplies have been dumped outside to make room to
keep warm.”

It never did stop snowing. The temperature
dropped to thirty degrees below zero. The air itself froze. Snow
flakes bounced off the ground and floated, suspended in the air.
Spiders fought for space in their small bunkers. The cached weapons
tossed outside were soon covered with snow and lost. Some spiders
walked out to the highway to surrender. A few were taken prisoner.
After their terrible losses, legionnaires were not in a mood to
take prisoners. Other spiders simply wandered off to sleep and
die.

As if on cue to finally put the insurgents
out of their misery, white clad Legion troops on skis appeared and
sought them out. The fight was quick and decisive.

* * * * *

The shuttle circled over Finisterra, looking
for a place to land. The tops of trees were obscured by low clouds.
They did not have fuel to waste, but there were no clear spots in
the thick forest to land. Finally, about two miles from Finisterra,
they found the meadow they had been hoping for. Quickly landing,
they realized their mistake too late. The shuttle fell through the
ice of a pond and tipped over. Spider marines and equipment were
thrown about.