America's Galactic Foreign Legion - Book 3: Silent Invasion (11 page)

“No,” I replied. “We have been through this
before. Your arrest warrants have to be approved by General
Kalipetsis, and he says there is a question of sovereignty at stake
that must be resolved.”

“I now have two more Imperial Arrest
Warrants,” announced the Special Forces Commander, waving the
paperwork. “They will be served immediately!”

I read the warrants. They included another
warrant for Bonanno and a warrant for someone named Louis Gotti.
Both warrants were for murder. “What is this all about?” I asked.
“Who got killed this time?”

“Bonanno and Gotti conspired to murder the
Emperor,” replied the Special Forces Commander. “More arrest
warrants will be issued soon, as the investigation expands.”

“The Emperor was assassinated?” I asked. I
was stunned. “That is terrible. Surely you do not think the Legion
or any part of our government had anything to do with a conspiracy
to murder the Emperor, or had any advance knowledge of a
conspiracy.”

“That very possibility is being looked in
to,” said the Special Forces Commander, staring at Lieutenant
Lopez. “Your involvement would not surprise me.”

“Who do you think you are looking at?” yelled
Lieutenant Lopez. Rising from his seat, he gave the Special Forces
Commander a shove. Aides had to pull the two apart. “Are you
accusing me of something, punk?”

“This meeting is over,” said the Special
Forces Commander. “The Fleet Commander will return soon. Serve
those arrest warrants before the Fleet Commander gets back, or he
will serve the warrants himself.”

“Are you trying to start a war?” I asked.
“That is where this is headed. It will take time to sort this out.
Is this just a pretext for war?”

“Soldiers do not want to start wars,”
explained the Special Forces Commander. “Wars are started by
politicians. Our military is being mobilized. The momentum for war
may be bigger than any of us. As much as I hate you human
pestilence, I do not want war. Serve those warrants and find those
responsible for the murder of the Emperor, and we might yet avert
another war.

Return to Table of
Contents

Chapter 9

Air-raid shelters and extensive escape
tunnels had been dug under all Mafioso residences and businesses in
New Memphis since the last dispute between the Legion and the Mob.
Simply bombing the Mafia from space, as tempting as that might
sound, was not an option this time around. Besides, I wanted to
capture as many thugs as I could so that they could be interrogated
or turned over to the spiders. I declared martial law and signed
arrest warrants for most of the organized crime members of New
Memphis. I put up roadblocks so no one could leave town. Top on the
list of names were Bonanno, Gotti, and Battaglia.

Legion strike teams stormed all known Mafioso
residences, businesses, and properties, with no luck. As expected,
Mafia family and associates were able to escape through the
tunnels. They knew we were coming, anyway. Frustrated, I had their
property burned to the ground. Anonymous tips indicated the
riverfront area would be a good place to search next. Lieutenant
Lopez and I had just walked out of Legion Headquarters to lead a
column of tanks to the docks when Phil Coen of World News Tonight
and his camera crew stopped me for an interview.

“Major Czerinski, I am glad to have finally
caught up with you,” said Coen, pleasantly. “Is it true you are
arresting American citizens and turning them over to the spiders to
be tortured or summarily executed? What ever happened to the
Constitution and due process?”

“I am not a cop,” I said. “The Legion has not
arrested anyone.”

“Is it true you burned down the homes of
several of New Memphis’s leading citizens?” asked Coen. “Including
the Mayor’s mansion?”

“That was the Mayor’s Mansion?” I asked
Lieutenant Lopez. “Is the Mayor on our list?”

“Yes, sir,” answered Lieutenant Lopez.
“Giuseppe Battaglia is near the top of the list.”

“How do these people get elected?” I asked.
“Oh well. Don’t worry. The Mayor is alive. He escaped out a tunnel
and is hiding with his Mafia buddies down by the docks.”

“Did you burn down a pizza parlor next door
to the Sheriff’s Office?” asked Coen.

“That was an accident,” said Lieutenant
Lopez. “Someone left the gas on from one of the ovens.”

“What proof do you have of any wrongdoing or
Mafia involvement?” asked Coen. “Didn’t General Kalipetsis say just
this week that the Mafia never got past Mars?”

“As you know, the Emperor of Arthropoda was
assassinated,” I explained. “There is evidence a conspiracy
originated here in New Memphis. The spider Feet Commander demands
that we arrest those responsible.”

“Is it true the spiders allege the Emperor
was assassinated by a conspiracy of sanitary engineers?” asked
Coen. “How reliable can this information be, and should we trust
their word on the matter?”

“Shit happens,” said Lieutenant Lopez.
“Garbage happens, too. Truth is sometimes stranger than
fiction.”

“Critics in Congress have already questioned
whether we have allowed the Legion to become a puppet of the
Arthropodan Empire. Legionnaires arresting our own citizens and
turning them over to certain death at the claws of the spiders
smacks of a loss of sovereignty.”

“Are we broadcasting live?” I asked. “What is
the range of your broadcast?”

“We are broadcasting to our satellite,” said
Coen. “Then the feed goes planet-wide. Don’t you expect the
citizens of New Memphis to resist your infringement on their
Constitutional rights and your scrapping of the Bill of Rights in
favor of knuckling under to the every whim of a maniacal spider
Fleet Commander who once publicly stated that his ultimate goal is
to sweep humanity from this part of the galaxy?”

“Martial law has been declared,” I said.
“It’s all legal. I would think the citizens of New Memphis would be
tired by now of being ruled by Mafioso thugs that obviously rigged
elections in the first place and treat the public treasury like it
is their own private bank account.”

“Your martial law is illegal,” insisted Coen.
“You are just a Legion major. Where is General Kalipetsis? What
does the Sheriff have to say about this outrage?”

“Is the Sheriff on our list?” I asked
Lieutenant Lopez, hoping.

“Not yet,” said Lieutenant Lopez. “Do you
want him added?”

“Coen wants to know how the Sheriff feels
about the martial law. Arrest Coen and his camera crew, and lock
them up at the county jail,” I ordered. “That way he can interview
the Sheriff in person.”

“You can’t do this!” exclaimed Coen, as he
was grabbed by Sergeant Green. “I will sue you for violating my
First Amendment rights!”

“My advice to you is never miss a good chance
to shut up,” I said. “That should be somewhere in the Constitution,
too.”

As soon as the TV transmission was cut,
General Kalipetsis called me on the radio. He had been watching the
confrontation live on World News Tonight. “Can’t I leave you alone
for two days without you stirring up the press?” asked General
Kalipetsis. “What is this about you burning down the Mayor’s
mansion?”

“Sir, Mayor Battaglia is on the spiders’ list
of Mafioso involved in the conspiracy to assassinate the Emperor,”
I explained. “If I don’t find him and the other wise guys, the
spiders will invade New Memphis and attempt to make the arrests
themselves. I do not have enough legionnaires to stop them.”

“I understand the problem,” said General
Kalipetsis. “Do the best you can with the troops available. I will
send you some national guard companies, soon. In the meantime, do
you really have to hunt the Mayor down on TV like he’s some kind of
common criminal or Democrat?”

“But he is a Democrat,” I said. “This whole
town always votes Democrat.”

“In that case, just handle it,” said General
Kalipetsis. “I have my own problems on the other side of New
Colorado with more insurgency activity. I don’t need to be micro
managing your problems with Democrats. Did you hear the Greens are
pulling out of Finisterra? Waterstone just signed a treaty with
Arthropoda promising unlimited immigration quotas and expanded
borders in exchange for keeping their national guard inside their
borders.”

“That isn’t good,” I said. “We are giving
them Finisterra?”

“It looks like it,” said General Kalipetsis.
“We will try to negotiate a new treaty for joint governing of
Finisterra and mutual respect for property rights and property
ownership. But, we may be pulling back to the old DMZ soon.
Finisterra is too radioactive for my tastes anyway. Do the best you
can, and try not to explode any more nukes.”

“Yes, sir,” I said, ending the
transmission.

“Start up your engines! We are moving out to
the Waterfront District!”

When my tanks got to the waterfront, we
stopped all port operations. There must have been a million logs
being loaded onto ships headed south. Irate longshoremen confronted
us, but what could they do against tanks, cannons, and machine
guns? I told the dock workers to give up all the Mafioso they were
hiding. The crowd pushed Victor Gambini, President of the local
longshoreman’s union, to the front of my tank.

“Sorry,” I announced. “Gambini is not on my
arrest list. You can take him back. I’m only looking for members of
the Battaglia, Gotti, and Bonanno organizations.”

“You are getting Gambini,” said Tiny, still
wearing Hell’s Angels patches on his vest. “He’s crooked enough. Be
happy with that and go away!”

“It’s better than nothing,” commented
Lieutenant Lopez. “I’m adding him to our list. Maybe we can trade
Gambini for a wise guy, later.”

“What list?” asked Gambini. “You can’t put me
on no list! You’re just arresting me because I’m Italian. This is
union busting!”

“Fine. We’ll take him,” I said, irritated.
Sergeant Green grabbed Gambini and handcuffed him to the turret of
my tank. I looked closer at the giant of a man who seemed to be the
spokesman for the longshoremen. “What is Hell’s Angels?”

“Hell’s Angels is an organization of
motorcycle enthusiasts,” replied Tiny. “What’s it to you?”

“I guess everyone needs a hobby,” I said.
“Although I think it’s a bit cold and wet up here to be riding
bikes.”

“I’ll worry about the weather,” replied Tiny.
“You worry about playing G.I. Joe.”

“If Hell’s Angels is a gang, we will talk
again,” I warned.

“You got what you wanted,” added a spider
longshoreman, also wearing Hell’s Angels garb. “You can leave
now.”

“I’m not going anywhere! I will be here
everyday until I get everyone on this list,” I announced, posting
the arrest list to a utility pole. “Any information that results in
arrests will be rewarded with cash.”

“How much cash?” asked Tiny.

“I’ll pay one hundred thousand dollars for
Mayor Battaglia,” I said. “I’ll pay even more for Bonanno and
Gotti.”

“Battaglia is hiding at the union hall,” said
the spider Hell’s Angel. “I will get him for you.” A posse of
Longshoremen marched off to the union hall.

Battaglia was dragged out kicking and
screaming. He was handcuffed to my tank next to Gambini. The
Special Forces Commander decided to keep them both. The next day,
Carlos Bonanno was found dead, hanging from the flagpole in front
of the Sheriff’s Office. Attached to him was a note saying Bonanno
had been voted out of the Black Hand, and that his business
associates wanted nothing more to do with his kind. The note also
expressed grief for the Emperor, and denied having anything to do
with his assassination.

* * * * *

A long column of spider tanks approached New
Memphis from the northwest. Their first contact with the Legion was
at a Legion checkpoint. Guido was asleep in the guard shack when
Corporal Williams woke him and excitedly pointed at the tanks. The
lead tank was parked behind a weighted lift-up gate barrier. It was
too late to run, so Guido walked up to the gate like he owned the
whole planet.

“You are causing a traffic jam,” accused
Guido. “What do you think you are doing? Pull over to the side of
the road and let cars go by!”

“I have orders to occupy New Memphis,” said
the tank commander. “The Empire will govern New Memphis jointly
with the Legion.”

“We will see about that,” replied Guido,
calling me at Legion Headquarters on the phone. “I don’t believe
you.”

“I have no knowledge of anyone making a deal
to allow spider tanks to invade New Memphis,” I answered. “I didn’t
think the spiders are even allowed by treaty to have tanks anywhere
on the planet’s surface.”

“There must be a hundred tanks at my gate,”
said Guido. “Do something!”

“Try to hold them until I can call an air
strike on your position,” I ordered.

“What?” asked Guido. “What do you mean ... on
my position?”

“Don’t worry,” I said. “Trust me. Help is on
the way.”

Guido threw down the phone. “You can’t pass
this checkpoint,” he told the tank commander. “You have no
authorization.”

“I have my orders,” said the tank commander.
“I am either passing by you, or over you.”

“Let me see your orders,” said Guido. “Do you
have that in writing?”

“No,” admitted the tank commander. “The
Special Forces Commander himself told me to proceed to New
Memphis.”

“You are risking a war, and you don’t even
have written orders?” asked Guido, incredulously. “What kind of an
outfit are you running? What if you got the orders wrong? What part
of New Memphis are you suppose to go to? Did your Special Forces
Commander say to just come to the edge of town, or go downtown, or
maybe to the docks? Which is it?”

“No, he did not specify,” said the tank
commander, now uncertain of his position. “I just assumed he meant
to occupy all of New Memphis.”