Free America's Galactic Foreign Legion - Book 1: Feeling Lucky by Walter Knight Page B

web.
    Flash-bang grenades went off at my feet,
followed by the sounds of gunfire. I was disorientated. All I could
do for a few seconds was drop to the ground in a fetal position.
Then a gas grenade went off. I yelled a warning of gas to the
platoon as I pulled on my mask and rolled to the side for cover.
The mask was not helping. I started convulsing. The last thing I
remembered was sticking myself with atropine. That didn’t work
either. We were now prisoners of war.

    * * * * *

    I awoke gradually, opening
my eyes to find myself trapped underground inside a square cage
sitting on bare dirt. I looked over with a start and saw a huge
spider staring at me with its buggy eyes protruding from its ugly
head. Shit! Keeping a close eye on the spider, I got up and patted myself
down, checking for injuries. I seemed to be okay.
    The spider started moving its mouth, but what
I heard instead of the usual hissing and screeching was a
mechanical voice from a speaker box sitting on the table near the
spider that said, “Human pestilence, you are a prisoner of war. You
will be treated accordingly. Name and Rank?”
    “ You first,” I said. “Who
the hell are you, where am I, where are my men – and how the hell
are you talking English?”
    With his huge claw appendage, the spider
patted the box on the table beside him. “This is a computer
interpreter and video recording unit. I am #14 of the Attached
Intelligentsia & State Security Unit. Your name and rank?”
    “ Lieutenant Joey R.
Czerinski,” I answered. “I want my people accounted
for.”
    “ The other prisoners are
fine,” Spider #14 said. “Unlike you, we abide by rules of conduct
regarding the taking and treatment of prisoners. Your men will not
be abused.”
    “ The United States Galactic
Federation also has rules safeguarding prisoners of war,” I
challenged. This Nazi looking spider dressed in black garb seemed a
bit upset about something. Or maybe it was just the tone of the
interpreter box on the table.
    “ You don’t take prisoners,”
accused #14. “Is that how you get around your so-called rules
ensuring the well being of prisoners of war?”
    “ I don’t know what you are
talking about.”
    “ We found hundreds of
identification crystals in your pouch. You took them from dead
soldiers, civilian workers, and children?” asked #14.
    “ Identification crystals?” I
stared dumbly at the diamond dangling from a gold chain the spider
held in front of me. “So that’s what they are. I didn’t
know.”
    “ Yes. Similar to your animal
tags.”
    “ You mean dog tags,” I
corrected, pulling mine out to show the spider officer. “I also
have an identification chip imbedded in my ass.”
    “ Whatever. The interpreter
box is still building its human vocabulary,” said #14. “This thing
works like a piece of bat shit.” He smacked the interpreter box
with his claw. “Fine. Dog tags. You took identification crystals
from those you killed?”
    “ Yes,” I
answered.
    “ And of the hundreds you
killed, you took not one prisoner? Not even a baby?” asked
#14.
    “ Baby? What baby? I think
Sergeant Lopez was bit by a so-called baby.” I didn’t like the
direction this was going. “We didn’t kill any babies.”
    “ You just acknowledged
Sergeant Lopez was bit by a baby. And you took no prisoners. So you
admit to killing babies,” accused #14.
    “ I admit to nothing. Are you
accusing me of something?” I asked.
    “ I will ask the questions
here. You and the rest of the human pestilence with you had the
legs and arms of babies in your back pouches. Explain that,”
demanded #14.
    “ Am I facing charges?” I
asked. I started pacing.
    “ Did you explode nuclear
bombs inside a habitat?”
    “ Where are all my people?” I
demanded, looking around in the relative darkness.
    “ All your soldiers are
fine,” answered #14.
    It was hard to see very far, but I finally
noticed the other cages sitting some distance away. “These cages
aren’t big