Read America's Galactic Foreign Legion - Book 22: Blue Powder War for Free Online Page B

story. It was a mangy coyote yelping, and the heat was turned up inside the DMZ Walmart. I entered on the American side with two bedraggled spider prisoners in tow. Blue-Claw entered from the Arthropodan side with Private Higuera.
    “Follow the yellow line, just like at DMV,” I instructed. “Walk slow, and you might even live out the day.”
    “No!” protested one of the spiders. “You are the Butcher of New Colorado, the Butcher of the Web. You can’t be trusted. You will shoot us in the back.”
    “I will honor our deal,” I replied, deeply hurt that my credibility was questioned. I shoved them forward. “Meet in the middle, and you might live.”
    “Please, I don’t want to die.”
    “Be positive. There’s always sunshine above the clouds.”
    “But we’re indoors. We’re going to die under neon lights!”
     
    * * * * *
     
    “Seriously?” asked Private Higuera. “Walmart? Are you kidding me?”
    “Not my call,” answered Blue-Claw. “If something goes wrong, your paranoid commander wants it all recorded on Walmart security tape.”
    “Is it okay if I snatch some tamales?” asked Private Higuera reasonably, salivating as they passed the Mexican foods section. “And chips? I’m starving.”
    “No!” replied Blue-Claw, giving his hostage a push. “Walk straight to your boss, Czerinski. Stick to the plan.”
    “Plan? I don’t need no stinking plan. I’m an American. Americans don’t plan , we do . I need to eat, or my blood sugar will drop.”
    “If you want to survive, get your mind off food and do as you are told!”
    “ Puta ,” fumed Higuera under his breath, defiantly grabbing an apple fritter as he passed pastries. “Good thing I’m getting released, or I’d kick your punk spider ass!”
     
    * * * * *
     
    The two spider prisoners and Private Higuera walked slowly, meeting at the center of Walmart in the electronics department. Private Higuera deftly slipped a latest model Kindle into his pants. Playing catch-up, the spiders pilfered digital cameras.
    “How come we didn’t get food like you?” complained one of the spiders. “Not even pizza. All hostages get pizza. The Legion never feeds its prisoners.”
    “Discrimination,” answered Private Higuera. “Deal with it.”
    “Give me half your fritter, you can have a camera,” offered the spider, reaching for Big Tony’s sweets. “You need to share, bro.”
    “Get off me!” replied Private Higuera, holding back. “I don’t think so, not in this lifetime.”
    “They’re going to shoot us all,” whispered the spider, leaning closer. “Shit rolls downhill, and we’re at the bottom of the poop-chute. It’s always been that way.”
    “No one is shooting anyone,” assured Private Higuera, trying to finish the fritter as he pointed to ceiling camera. “They wouldn’t dare. We’re all on Channel Five World News Tonight.”
    “Damn!” gasped the other spider to his buddy. “You better put those cameras back. This is going to mess up my parole.”
    “Too late. Run!”
    Choking on the fritter, Private Higuera adroitly elbowed the spider aside and made a dash for freedom. The spiders did the same. Just as they reached Blue-Claw a Legion sniper’s shot rang out, killing one of the spider parolees. Narrowly missing death himself, an enraged Blue-Claw fired an RPG at Private Higuera. The rocket overshot, destroying much of the sportswear department. Nike shoes flew off the shelf faster than a Black Friday riot. Reliving past football glory, Private Higuera caught a pair of Nikes in mid-stride and sprinted for the end zone. I pulled Higuera to cover as a Legion armored car burst through the glass front doors, peppering the spider side with 50-cal machine gun fire. Its cannon blew out the far wall as the spiders fled.
     
    * * * * *
     
    It’s all about saving face , surmised Blue-Claw later, wondering if that sniper’s bullet was really intended for him, not his dead minion. He shrugged. A one-for-one trade still