Peacekeepers (2 page)

* * * * *

Major Desert-Sting of the Scorpion City National Guard personally inspected the surface-to-air-missile (SAM) battery being deployed next to Walmart. The scorpion officer addressed his guardsmen just prior to activation of the site.

“Captain Czerinski of the Legion Peacekeepers just advised me that due to the imminent threat of spider attack, the air space over Scorpion City is restricted. All flight violations of our air space are to be considered hostile and dealt with accordingly. We know the spiders are coming, we just do not know when. Do your duty!”

Desert-Sting flicked on the radar activation switch. Immediately an unidentified aircraft was detected, inbound from the border directly towards Walmart. Without hesitation, Major Desert-Sting fired two missiles, shooting down Colonel Lopez’s shuttle as it left Legion Headquarters from the border.

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Chapter 2

The automated public address alarm system pleasantly warned, “Attention Walmart shoppers. Evacuate the building as soon as possible. Run, but do not panic. The spiders are attacking. Drop down the nearest tunnel bunker located for your convenience in the front parking lot. Sam’s Club members can use membership cards for quick entry. Thank you for visiting Walmart, home for all your one-stop shopping needs. Have a nice day.”

* * * * *

I visited Colonel Lopez at the hospital. His whole body was in traction, and he was bound up like an Egyptian mummy. I checked his medical chart in disbelief that so many bones could be broken and not cause death.
Damn!
I placed a wrapped present by Lopez’s bed to cheer him up.

“Who shot me down?” he asked, disregarding the box. “What happened to my shuttle?”

“You were accidentally shot down by the Scorpion City National Guard,” I explained. “Shit happens. I don’t know why. They had just activated the SAM site when you lifted off. There’s a possibility you strayed over restricted air space.”

“Accident?” asked Colonel Lopez. “I flew out the same route I flew in. Don’t they get proper training before we turn those fools loose with SAMs? Who was the officer in charge?”

“It was Major Desert-Sting,” I replied. “I gave him a factory field instruction manual that was so easy to follow, even a national guardsman could do it.”

“What’s in the package?” asked Colonel Lopez, still not accepting my explanation, but letting the matter drop for now. “I salvaged it from the wreckage,” I said. “I thought it would cheer you up.” “You will have to open it. With this body cast, I can’t even scratch my ass, let alone open that.” I opened the present, placing Lopez’s Legion helmet by his pillow. I had painted it bright blue. “Just for you,” I commented. “What is this? You think this is funny?” “Sorry, sir. I did at the time, but I can see now that maybe it was inappropriate. Please realize humor can be a difficult thing. This is proof.”

“Humor!” shouted Colonel Lopez. “You want to know what I think? I think you are responsible for shooting me down! That’s what that blue helmet proves! Get out of my sight! I don’t want you in my room, or even anywhere near this hospital!”

Lopez began thrashing about painfully, still restrained by the traction devices. He screamed for the nurses.

“Sir, you need to calm down, or you’ll hyperventilate,” I advised. I pinched the oxygen tube, causing Lopez to thrash about even more.
Oops.
Alarms started beeping, causing two scorpion nurses to rush in.

“What have you done?” asked one of the nurses, shoving me away from the IV tree.

“He’s trying to kill me!” shouted Colonel Lopez. “That
bendaho
tried to kill me!”

“What is a
bendaho
?” asked the nurse, checking her translation device for proper calibration.

“I’m not sure,” I answered. “Obviously Colonel Lopez is delirious from pain. You should increase his morphine drip.” “Get him out of my room!” shouted Colonel Lopez. “Czerinski is a cold-blooded psycho murderer. He always has been!” “You’re a fine one to talk about being cold-blooded,” I replied, increasing his morphine drip with the turn of a knob. “Sir, you need to stop touching the equipment,” ordered the nurse. “Perhaps you should leave. Your presence only seems to agitate Colonel Lopez.”

“We have served together since we were recruits,” I said. “Lopez and I are best friends. He must be in shock. I’m sure he’ll be glad to see me when I visit tomorrow.”

“No!” insisted Colonel Lopez. “I want security posted at my door! Czerinski is to be barred from the hospital!”

“It seems that we can add paranoia to his delusional symptoms,” commented the nurse, increasing the morphine drip again. “Captain Czerinski is your friend.”

“Paranoia was a preexisting condition,” I added, trying to be helpful.

“Czerinski is an assassin!” insisted Colonel Lopez, before finally nodding off.

“Do you have psych meds you can load him up with?” I asked. “Lopez self-medicates, but I think he needs some structure in his medication regimen.”

“Scorpion medications are stronger than what you humans take, but are basically the same,” commented the nurse. “It is just a matter of getting the right dose. I will consult with the doctor when he makes his rounds again.”

“That will be fine,” I said. “The more psych meds, the better.”

“Assassin!” yelled Colonel Lopez, jolting upright, then falling back into slumber, mumbling something about assassins and untrustworthy Polish traitors.

* * * * *

Klaxons rang out as Major Desert-Sting tracked the cruise missile fired from the hills held by spider militia across the border. The missile circled around town, occasionally dipping below radar detection. As the cruise missile reached south by the spaceport, it darted directly north towards Walmart. Desert-Sting fired two SAMs. Immediately the cruise missile cut loose decoys. Taken by surprise, Desert-Sting fired more SAMs in desperation. Multiple targets were hit, but the bogeys kept coming. Debris rained down on the neighborhood, including a decoy that crashed harmlessly in the Walmart parking lot.

“Those cowardly spiders target innocent civilians!” shouted Desert-Sting, shaking his claw triumphantly to the north. “But this time we were ready!”

Cheering shoppers emerged from the Walmart bunkers and mobbed their scorpion National Guardsmen. A couple cars burned in the parking lot, but everyone was safe.

“Attention Walmart shoppers,” announced the public address system. “Walmart is pleased to announce our first bombing clearance sale. All electronics are marked at half price. All items from our gardening department are seventy-five percent off. Please shop responsibly and remember to shop Walmart first for all your one-stop shopping needs.”

The crowd rushed the doors, fighting over shopping carts and limited available music sound systems and electronic devices. Agitated scorpion housewives snapped their claws and wickedly swung their stingers as they jostled for position down narrow isles and in long lines. A greeter was trampled before nearby National Guard units finally restored order. Will Walmart ever learn?

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Chapter 3

I met with my military counterpart across the border at his office to discuss escalating tensions between the spiders and scorpions. We held these informal talks once a week.

“Why are you wearing a blue helmet?” asked the spider commander. “Is it Easter already? The kids love that holiday of yours. Searching for hidden eggs is a real hoot!”

“We are peacekeepers now,” I advised. “I’m wearing blue so I won’t get shot at.”

“I do not think that will work,” mused the spider commander. “Blue helmets look odd even by your human pestilence standards. They will draw attention.”

“I am here to discuss the missile attack on Walmart,” I said. “The Legion will not tolerate such terrorist attacks on civilians.”

“That missile was fired by the militia,” replied the spider commander. “I will issue a strong letter of condemnation about the attack.”

“You will arrest the militia leader,” I insisted. “I want the militia leader extradited to face terrorism charges.”

“I will not extradite anyone,” replied the spider commander. “Even if I wanted to, it would be physically and politically impossible to dislodge the militia from those hills. They are dug in too well for it to be worth my while.”

“I don’t want excuses,” I warned. “These missile attacks must stop. If you harbor terrorists, you will be held personally responsible for their actions. Do you want to face a war crimes trial?”

“Do not make threats,” advised the spider commander, agitated. “What about the bombing of Walgreens? You harbor your own terrorists. We should be working together to exterminate the scorpions. I know you don’t trust them. I’ve heard you say it many times. Both our species were here first. They are invaders and vermin pests. The scorpions will revolt at the first chance when they no longer have a use for Legion protection. Do you want to be stabbed in the back? No, of course not. Join me. We can burn the scorpions out now while they are still weak.”

“The scorpions are USGF citizens and registered republicans,” I said. “You will not plot their extermination.” “They are cannibals!” said the spider commander. “And their terrorist attacks against the Empire will be dealt with harshly.” “How are your new oil wells coming along? Getting rich yet? That’s what this is really all about.” “Production will be online shortly. And the pipeline will be completed by next month.” “If you refuse to resolve this border tension, your pipeline will be the next target. I’ll bet the scorpions have already dug tunnels under it.”

“There are plenty of industrial targets on your side of the border. You keep your pet scorpions on your side, or else. Happy Easter!”

* * * * *

Spider militia commander Mountain Storm looked on as Arthropodan marines delivered five more cruise missiles to his militia stronghold. “Very nice,” he said. “Now we can get serious about those vermin scorpions.”

“Keep your missiles under the camouflage netting,” advised the marine Special Forces lieutenant. “The Legion has a spy in the sky.”

“We will make good use of them,” promised Mountain Storm. “The Legion cannot stop us.” “Last time you missed Walmart,” complained the lieutenant. “How do you miss a target that big?” “The missile was shot down by a SAM,” explained Mountain Storm. “That is why you are delivering five more. Now I cannot miss.” “You had better dig in deep,” advised the lieutenant. “The scorpions and the Legion are going to hit you hard for this.” “I am not worried about scorpions,” replied Mountain Storm, dismissively. “Unlike you marines, I am not afraid who knows I am responsible. You just use us to do your dirty work.”

“I do not get involved in the politics,” said the lieutenant, shrugging. “But, you are right. Plausible deniability is all the generals worry about these days.”

* * * * *

After the marine lieutenant left, Mountain Storm called Corporal Tonelli on his phone. “Guido! It’s been a long time! This is Mountain Storm. I want to bet big on the Yankees.”

“You are a bandit,” replied Guido. “You have no cash or credit. You don’t even pay taxes. Or did you rob a bank I don’t know about?”

“I have four Arthropodan cruise missiles,” advised Mountain Storm. “They are worth about one hundred thousand credits apiece. The missiles are brand new, still in their crates. I want to go all in on tonight’s Yankees game.”

“Are you out of your mind?” asked Guido. “What would I do with four cruise missiles? It’s not like I can just keep them in the back of my guard shack.”

“Sell them on the black market, for all I care,” replied Mountain Storm. “Sell them to the Greens. Those traitorous spiders have lots of money and are always buying arms.”

“No,” said Guido. “Sorry, I have no use for the cruise missiles, should you lose the bet.”

“I also have a small nuke,” boasted Mountain Storm. “It fits nicely atop any of these missiles.”

“I am suddenly interested,” advised Guido. “Let me make a few phone calls. Move that ordinance up to the border so we can move fast to make this happen. You had better not be jerking me around.”